The Wizard of Gotham
by Skysaber
Summary: After failing to cheat Bruce Wayne on a deal for drills, Vernon Dursley takes his frustrations out on Harry Potter, by abandoning him in Gotham City.
1. Chapter 1

The Wizard of Gotham  
by Skysaber

Chapter One

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After failing to cheat Bruce Wayne on a deal for drills, Vernon Dursley takes his frustrations out on Harry Potter, by abandoning him in Gotham City.

Based on an idea by Rift120, as passed on by Lionheart

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Seeing as how I can't detect anything even vaguely resembling continuity in the DC timeline, it will be more or less disregarded and the characters seen and interpreted as I see fit.

Harry Potter is not a universe that lends itself easily to humor, but that just makes the challenge more interesting.

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A five year old Harry Potter stared out a window at the storm and ice.

It was winter, and Mrs Figg hadn't been able to take him in because of a slip on some ice giving her a dangerous sprain that had her laid up. So Harry had found to his infinite delight (and his own relative's disgust) that he had to accompany them when his Uncle Vernon took a business trip to Gotham City.

It was Harry's first trip out of Surrey, his first time anywhere really. And the bulging-eyed expressions of his relatives when they realized there was no choice but to take him rather reminded him of the time Dudley came home proudly boasting that he'd gotten two older men to give him fifty pounds in exchange for their touching him 'down there.'

It was easy to make the comparison. That had happened only last week.

Dudley complained like anything over the shots he'd gotten afterwards. Aunt Petunia still hadn't stopped crying over her precious Duddykin's future 'sterility', whatever that was.

Sterile was a word they used in hospitals to describe how clean everything was, right? So it had to be a good thing for him. Harry couldn't understand why his aunt kept crying about Dudley being clean. They always insisted that Harry stay clean, if they hadn't locked him in his cupboard for a week, that is.

Vernon had gone over to give those two men a sound thrashing, but had come back much later with an embarrassed expression on his purple face and whipped cream in his hair, rubbing rope burns on his wrists. So Harry couldn't understand what had gone on. The closest he could guess was his uncle and those two men got in a pie fight.

But when they'd taken Dudley in for his shots, Vernon had gotten some too. Harry could have thought that was his uncle's idea to give Dudley a good example, or show that the shots didn't hurt, except he'd been there beside his Aunt Petunia watching, and Vernon blubbered like a little girl when he was getting them.

He knew, because that was how Sally at school cried when she'd scraped her knee. Just like her heart would break.

The stewardesses on the flight were nice, and they even fed him at the same time and in the same portions as anyone! (Though Dudley had to go and steal his cheese. He said he'd needed it to wash out the taste of his prescription medicines he still had to take.)

Harry rode in the back of the plane while the rest of his family rode up front, but he didn't mind. A nice lady with four kids even loaned him a picture book!

Harry already had a bright mind. His teacher at kindergarten gave him special attention when she found out about his bruises, so he already knew most of the letters and how to sound them out. The words in the picture book were simple, and he was able to figure out how to read them, opening up a dazzling story unlike anything he'd ever heard before!

When he did, he found himself wishing that a talking cat would visit his house and play with him.

He read that book three times, trying to memorize it. When the plane landed he gave it back to the nice lady who let him borrow it while she ushered her little flock out of the compartment.

When Harry at last got off the aircraft at the end of a long line of people his Aunt Petunia was furious that she'd had to wait for him, grabbing him roughly by the back of his oversize shirt before plowing angrily through the crowds to where Vernon and his son were stuffing their faces in a restaurant, already having rented a car.

Naturally, they didn't give Harry any of food, even though the meal on the flight had been a long, long time ago. But the boy was able to sneak a few fries and palm an untouched cheeseburger to hide in his oversize clothes before they decided they were done and hauled him away, leaving enough uneaten food behind to have fed Harry three times.

Sadly, that was all par for the course.

Thankfully, their ride in the rented car passed in something of a blur. Vernon talked proudly the whole way about how successful he was going to be at negotiating a contract between Grunnings and Wayne Enterprises. He bragged the whole drive about how that stupid yank was just dripping with money, and once he'd applied his superior British intellect and charm to him they'd be able to afford to buy their own island somewhere on the bonus he would get from securing the deal.

Then he amended, saying with a beady look at the back seat that they'd buy two islands - one to live on, furnished with a rich mansion a private heliport and yacht, and one bare desert one with a single palm tree for keeping Harry on so he couldn't disturb 'good, honest folks' with his freakishness.

Dudley complained that he was bored and wanted to watch TV, but Vernon explained that, in order to sneak a good ol honest vacation out of someone he didn't like in Grunnings who managed time off, that they weren't going to be staying in Gotham for very long. Despite the company giving him a whole week for this assignment, he'd arranged everything so he could fly in and meet with Bruce Wayne before flying out on the same day.

Tonight they were going to be sunning themselves in Florida, then Petunia and Vernon were even going to take Dudley to Disney World!

Despite knowing that he'd spend the day locked up in a hotel room, Harry still felt excited at the prospect of being so near to so famous a place. Besides, there was always the hope that they couldn't avoid taking him in, just like they hadn't been able to leave him behind on this trip.

Granted that was a flimsy hope, but it was an earnestly cherished one.

The car pulled up outside of a fancy museum and they all piled out, except Vernon, who would be going on to get his meeting over with so they could be rolling in dough. He left, promising he'd be back later to pick them up so they could drive back to the airport and have the real vacation start.

Petunia bought Dudley and ice pop and the three of them went in to see the museum for a few hours. It was interesting, especially when Dudley flicked his wrapped at a sculpture and set off the alarms. Apparently they were very sensitive because of some highly skilled criminals in Gotham. But Dudley didn't think it was very fun when the guards threw them out of the museum.

Harry used the time that security was interrogating Dudley, and his Aunt Petunia was hovering by wailing at the indignities suffered by her poor son, to eat his purloined cheeseburger. It was cold, but still very good.

They sat on a bench out front after that, unable to go inside and unable to leave for fear of not meeting Vernon, waiting for him to bring the car. But when Harry's uncle returned he was boiling mad. Even Petunia got alarmed at her husband's beet red face and the angry swelling of his features.

They got in and Vernon drove, not paying proper attention to the road and quickly getting lost on the unfamiliar streets of Gotham, too busy ranting all the while over upstart business tycoons who had more money in their britches than air above their heads not wanting to pay a fair and reasonable price for good quality tools.

Harry listened intently, sunk into his seat in fear and wondering why his uncle changed what he said so often. On the way there he'd been bragging how the 'ignorant yank' wouldn't know that he'd padded the drill prices to inflate his commission, and had even dropped a wink, adding that he wouldn't know their first rate tools from the second rank anyway.

But apparently the Dursleys would not be swimming in money. Vernon had been shown out of the building when the appointment was up, and any chance for a second meeting was out unless they took a hotel and canceled the flight to Florida.

Dudley instantly threw a fit at not getting to see Disney World, and Vernon got so upset that he stamped on the brakes, stopping the car to yell at him.

The worst part was when his beefy uncle was twisted about in his seat to face the two boys in the backseat, yelling at a startled and astonished Dudley, when Vernon's eyes fixed on Harry and he found a safer target for his rage. "You," he growled, and Harry realized with a start that he had never seen his uncle this angry before. "We've never had any sort of luck since you came about! You and your freakish ways, always causing problems. Well, no more! Out! Out of this car, I say! Get out this instant!"

Harry, who never had to be encouraged to run before one of his relatives fell to beating on him, had released the seat belt and shot out the door like the car was on fire!

The door slammed behind him and Vernon smashed down the gas, driving off in a foul temper while Harry stood looking on, never hearing his uncle rant about how, if the other freaks wanted him, they were free to track him down - that Gotham was such a crime ridden dump that he'd blend right in, and if he got gunned down, so much the better!

But the boy did have a sinking feeling they wouldn't be coming back for him.

By nightfall he was sure of it.

While he was certainly accurate in that assessment, the Dursleys had left without the slightest intention of coming back for him, their ability to do so was also in question as they'd been lost from the time they'd driven away from the museum and hadn't the foggiest idea where they'd left him.

That, by itself, probably would have presented an insurmountable obstacle even if they had suffered enough remorse of conscience (or fear of blame) to muster a change of heart about abandoning him there. However, the whole issue got made moot by Vernon's crazy driving getting them into an accident on their way to the airport.

When police arrived to investigate the three-car pileup the Dursleys were all so upset that, well... Vernon threw such a fit over those 'damn yanks all conspiring against him' that he got to spend two weeks in Arkham Asylum, while Petunia and Dudley enjoyed the time in protective custody, where both became very popular with the other inmates.

Dudley earned another fifty bucks before his 'friends' an out of cash, while Petunia never spoke of what happened, only bursting into tears whenever it got mentioned.

That vindictive person in Grunnings who didn't like Vernon Dursley and was in charge of vacations also took the extra week of time off out of his pay, as he was free to spend his vacation days any way he liked, and if he'd wanted to spent that time in an insane asylum that was certainly his choice, but the company wasn't obligated to pay for his treatment.

But, at about the time of the accident, tired and hungry and very, very cold in his over-large, ragged garments that didn't trap heat very well in the best of times, Harry started wandering from the spot they'd left him once the streetlights had come on. It wasn't that he didn't want to be found, if the Dursleys came back in the morning and wanted him back (which he very much doubted), but that he couldn't stay in one place any longer or he'd surely freeze to death!

Luckily, not far away Harry was able to find a park where there grew trees and bushes. The evergreens blunted the chill of winter breezes, and shivering from the cold the green-eyed boy made his way as deep in among them as he could get, seeking for the greatest amount of shelter they could afford.

It was while he was doing so that he found a huge greenhouse, hidden away at the center of some nearly impassable foliage. Just as he spotted it, he came across an impressive battle scene going on inside.

There was a guy as black as if he'd been dipped in black ink, and he had wings and some kind of horns. He was leaping through the air, tumbling and jumping, all the while throwing things at a bright colored lady with red hair and a vivid green outfit that made her look like some kind of ballerina.

As he watched, Harry became sure that the guy dipped in black was some kind of burglar, as he could see a shattered pane of glass that he'd broken to get inside of the greenhouse. And he didn't have wings, it was only a cape that sortuv looked like wings. But he did still have a pair of short, pointy horns on top of his mask.

He came to this realization just moments before the burglar hit the woman hard enough to knock her out. Then the man in the cape grabbed the ballerina and jumped out of the greenhouse with her, disappearing before Harry could see where they went.

It was troubling for the young soul, having witnessed his first kidnapping. In that moment he grew certain that some of those things his uncle had said about this city were true, that it was a nest of villains preying on helpless people. But that gave him chills even worse than the weather, for if that part of what his Uncle Vernon said was true, what about the rest of it? That the policemen of this city were as rotten as the thugs? His uncle had been sure that every last one of them was in the pocket of gangsters, (something that did not endear him to them when he said it to their faces at the scene of the car accident, even if it was to a large extent true). And, he had warned, if an honest body went to one for help that he'd be sold into slavery, off to Asia in a packing crate before he even knew what was happening!

Vernon had even said they'd never run out of spots for young boys in those Chinese salt mines. Or perhaps it would be coal mining in Africa for him. The Dursleys had entertained themselves for a cheerful half-hour during the trip planning with all of the gloriously horrific possibilities that might befall Harry.

Petunia could have been cheered up remarkably by recalling that time if so much of what she'd suggested wasn't currently happening to her. She wasn't locked in a packing crate on her way off to Africa, but in a way the strip search by grossly offended cops was just as bad.

Freezing in the winter weather, Harry decided then and there to sneak in to the warm greenhouse. The pretty ballerina lady had such nice plants, and if she ever got away from that scary man who looked like a bat she'd want her garden to still be alive when she got back.

Thinking that if he could only find some plastic and a little tape he could cover the hole the burglar had made, and perhaps by doing so the ballerina lady wouldn't mind if he stayed warm a few nights in her greenhouse, Harry snuck in to find the door unlocked and replacement panes of glass already stacked neatly by the entry.

He wondered if her windows got broken alot, because those tools for fixing a break were all right there ready to use.

Maybe Gotham really was so a nasty place if break-ins by weird bat-people were so common that you just had to have everything to fix them on hand?

The snow wasn't so bad, so Harry had the window fixed in a little less than half an hour. All of the tools were right there, and cleaning up the broken glass wasn't too difficult. Lifting the heavy pane into place was much harder, but the little kindergartner had been toughened to worse tasks than this by the Dursleys over the years.

Much of that toughening had been at the hands of Vernon Dursley, who was discovering a new definition of toughness as he was locked temporarily in the padded cell next to the Scarecrow.

Catching his breath and basking in the heat of the greenhouse as automated heaters compensated for the warmth lost through the break, Harry sat down and rubbed the pins and needles out of his limbs, wondering when or where he could get something to eat.

It seemed almost magical (a word he was forbidden to use, but seemed in place now) when a fruit tree limb bent down and hung an apple right before his face.

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Author's Notes:

Not really much to say, other than thanks to Chris Dee for writing Cat Tales, a work of fiction using the DC characters so superior to the original that words fail to adequately capture the difference.

My hat is off to you.


	2. Chapter 2

The Wizard of Gotham  
by Skysaber

Chapter Two

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I doubt anyone could portray Chris Dee's version of the Gothamites as well as Chris Dee does. The owners of the copywrited material certainly don't. But I will certainly be taking my inspiration from her, to the limit of my understanding anyway.

Frankly, I was never all that interested in the DC universe until I'd started to read Cat Tales.

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Harry had never eaten so well in his young life.

Fruit and food were everywhere, including all of the obvious ones like apples and oranges and cherries (all of which, he noted, were in bloom at the same time as holding fruit in every degree of ripeness, which he thought was odd), plus ones he had no names for. Plants he didn't understand would bend down and waggle fruit in his face, or pluck stalks off of themselves and try to poke it down his nose, until they'd worked out some sort of code together that said something like, "Eat me, please!"

Sweet corn was so sweet when consumed right after being plucked from the stalk that it tasted almost like candy. And, to a boy who'd never gotten any candy, it was simply the sweetest tasting thing there ever was.

Then he'd find carrots uprooting themselves from the ground to inch along behind him, leading little parades of radishes and potatoes and other stuff, waiting for him to sit down so they could wiggle into his lap and signal they wanted to be consumed.

Needless to say, his first weeks in the giant greenhouse were very strange, to say the least. Well fed, though. Very well fed. He couldn't recall being hungry since he got there.

Still, it was a strange environment to adapt to.

It wasn't that he felt unwelcome. No, the plants were very polite and made sure he knew they were grateful for his care. They parted to show the way he was supposed to go before him, and if he ever got lost he could ask and the branches would point out familiar landmarks to him.

And that was the weird point. He was pretty sure most plants didn't go out of their way to tell you anything, or if they had feelings most of them didn't communicate those very well. And wiggling along behind him signaling "Eat me, please!" was just too odd not to be confused about at first.

At last, sitting on a composting toilet while vines drooled all around him, and thinking back to that book on the plane with a talking, hat-wearing cat, Harry had to conclude that maybe what his relatives taught him was normal wasn't normal at all.

Maybe there were talking cats that came to play with lonely kids. Maybe the Dursleys just didn't have things like that happen in their lives because they didn't want them to?

Still, if good things could happen bad ones obviously could too. Just look at what happened to the pretty ballerina lady! So, every night before going to sleep after putting the lights out, Harry crawled into a sheltered little grotto to rest onto a soft bed of moss where some bushes could hide him.

Just in case that awful bat came back.

I mean, this greenhouse could be its hunting grounds, for all Harry knew, and he didn't want to be eaten by a giant, furry bug thingy!

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Poison Ivy was in a foul temper as they finally let her out of Arkham in late January. Two months locked up in there, and Batsy had snagged her when she was at an awkward moment between plant-sitters. Between the break in her greenhouse and the lack of water, all of her more fragile babies were surely dead by now.

Given that this was a Gotham winter, where pollution was as bad as the cold, even her toughest plants would surely be suffering, near dead and incredibly dehydrated if they weren't already hibernating. Even those that survived would be months coming out of the shock!

It was the sort of thing that made a girl want to go on a killing spree. See how the animal infestation of Gotham enjoyed having their homes broken into and children exposed to the cold.

But no, first she had to pay attention to saving whatever of her plants had lived. Vengeance could wait until later. As it was, she'd be all spring repairing the mess and bringing what survived back to a healthy, happy condition. Just like mommy always wanted for her pets.

Already mourning her loss, the redhead returned to the park only to be rather shocked to find her house lights not only on, but the broken pane sealed and her babies still alive. Wondering, she entered to find her plants warm, well watered and fed. Not a dry or withered leaf in sight.

A moment communing with her babies and few mental commands later set her plants to moving, and they snatched her culprit just as the untidy bundle of rags tried to sneak out the back way. So the Mistress of Plants found herself staring at a young boy dressed in dirty, torn up clothes as he hung suspended in the vines before her.

"Hi," the young boy ventured. Not wanting to get into any more trouble for staying in her house, he prattled on trying to escape blame. "I saw you when the scary caped man came and took you away. I've been minding the garden for my aunt for years, and I didn't want any of your pretty plants to die, so I just took some of your glass to fix the window. Then I found some fruit, and not wanting to eat without earning it I came across some bags of fertilizer and a note with a feeding schedual on it, so I followed it, and kept everything watered, and..."

The boy stopped prattling as, at her command, friendly vines lowered him to gently place him upright on the ground in front of her.

Pamela was sporting a barely concealed smile as she lofted an eyebrow for the child. "What is your name, boy?"

"Harry Potter, ma'am," he answered shyly.

"Potter? That's a good name for a good gardener to have." She smiled more fully now, looking the ragged child over. "And you have the absolute perfect color of eyes. I'm pleased to see you took better care of my babies than you did of yourself. It shows the right attitude. But not even I go so far as to wear fertilizer on my clothes."

"I haven't got any others," said the chagrined boy, suddenly recalling that he hadn't washed himself in a couple of months.

The redhead sighed. "Well, I'll not have Batsy taking me in again so early for a kidnapping I didn't do. If I did it, that would be a different matter, but... Where are your parents, child?"

"They died in a car crash," came the mumbled response.

Thinking furiously, Pamela Isley searched her brain, but couldn't come up with any of those she'd caused lately. Good, so she probably wasn't to blame. But she'd probably have to go around the Gotham Rogues to see who was. "Then why aren't you with your relatives?"

From the way the boy shrank in on himself, the answer was obvious even without him saying anything. Either abandoned or a runaway, but certainly abused either way. Well, she wouldn't press him for details. The Bat had put up with her taking in orphans before, and would be forced to do so again. That is, if she decided to keep him, which was still a very big if to her mind.

Thinking for only a moment while gazing about her domain, the woman gave the boy a smile with a touch of cleverness to it. "Very well, it's time for a feeding anyway. Show me how you take care of my babies."

Nodding furiously, Harry scampered off to where the tools were located. The beautious redhead swept along regally at his heels, paying an astonishing amount of close attention to the details of his handling of things. She dealt him a sharp word or two over the issue of weedkiller when he asked her why she didn't have any, but other than that things proceeded very peacefully as she followed him closely, inspecting every step of his daily routine that he'd been developing over the past two months after taking up residence in her hideout, taking care of the various plants there while she was up at Arkham.

There was also an admonishment, although a kindly one, that her gigantic, mutant flytrap was not to be fed its blood mash via thrown handfuls from outside of its easy reach. But Pamela collapsed into giggles when her Ivan (the flytrap had a name?) actually told her it had begun to enjoy that peculiar game of Catch.

An introduction followed that had the frightened boy bearing up manfully as he 'shook tentacles' with Batman's least favorite plant, and listening to Poison Ivy put him on its 'No Eat' list was educational to say the least.

She had more than a few things to say by way of instruction, and a few of interrogation over how various plants had handled the treatment they'd received, but at the end of a few hours Pamela found herself very pleased indeed with the earnest and hardworking little fellow.

That feeding schedual he'd found had been left for a previous plant-sitter, one who hadn't lasted very long, and was not quite up to date, but in the end Pamela found herself quite pleased indeed by how he'd handled things.

After the conclusion of a rather lengthy inspection and interogation, Ivy found herself rather charmed by the little boy in raggedy clothes, besides he took such good care of her babies and wasn't in the least bit arrogant or uncooperative when she corrected him (unlike that French gardener she'd had to have the curling mallow strangle when he absolutely insisted things had to be done his way).

It was quite obvious to her mind that this boy was a promising seedling that chanced to sprout in unhealthy soil. A tender shoot unloved and unrecognized by the barbarians who chanced to own that barren plot of ground. He needed only to be transplanted to a more fertile environment to bloom and grow into a malleable specimen she could mold into something great.

Something Green. Yes, great and green.

Oh, and he had pretty eyes, but that had nothing to do with it.

Harry stood, waiting for her approval (or the stern lecture he was sure that his aunt would've given in her place) when once more a vine lifted the boy up, only this time it simply held him upright while some creepers crawled over every inch of him, measuring him intently before they withdrew and he was placed again on the floor.

"I'll see you after your bath." Ivy informed Harry with a lofty brow (and yet a barely concealed smirk) as some shrubs started dragging him away. A few more words reached him before he got handed off to the water lilies that scrubbed and washed him. "The smell of animal is rather pungent. You must make sure to wash regularly if you are to stay here."

Harry's grin got so wide at that statement of acceptance that he didn't care about the natural soaps squirted all over him as the living sponges at the bottom of the pond began to scrub.

Ten minutes later, pink and cleaner than he'd ever been in his life, the raven haired boy was dropped into some boy's clothes a fern held, clothes that had been delivered by a juniper bush that had only just returned from a clothing store (which was sadly deficient in bright green clothes this time of year - so she'd had to settle for a dark green shirt with brown pants and jacket, which left him looking suspiciously normal, but that couldn't be helped). Then he got treated to the interesting experience of being dressed simultaneously by the limbs of a weeping willow from above and the fronds of a fern below.

Just as a few flowers got done spraying him with pleasant-smelling pollen, the boy got deposited before the lovely redhaired ballerina woman, who had changed her own outfit into some sort of green gown covered in leaves. The long skirt had slit sides so she could move easily, though he didn't notice this at the time.

Harry was happy. He was so pleased. He even had rocket ships on his underpants! He'd never had rocket ship underpants before! (The store was sadly short on boy's underwear with flowers on them, so rocket ships just had to do, as it wasn't going to be cowboys).

Pamela Lillian Isley looked over the boy but did not touch him, finally deeming him presentable, she began to sway towards the exit. "Come along, young Potter. While my plants are perfect for many things, providing protein to a growing young boy is not among their present abilities. So, until I design one that can, you and I are going to be eating out at least once a day. I know the cycles of living things, and you aren't half as healthy as you ought to be. So. as the Mistress of Green, I take it upon myself to be your caretaker until you have properly grown."

Eyes as wide as the smile that nearly split his face, the young boy followed her to where she stopped, by a giant pumpkin vine that was close to the exit. Once again, she smiled for him. "Ah, this one nearly died, in spite of your care. Blasted Bat and his breaking and entering nearly caused the vines to decide to wither in the face of winter."

She waved her hands and the largest of the already giant pumpkins swelled to a truly massive scale, vines uprooting themselves to form a sort of frame holding up the massive squash, as right before Harry's astonished eyes, the plant formed itself into a carriage.

If not for the Dursleys, he would have likened that to a scene out of Cinderella, but his relatives wouldn't allow any of 'that magic rubbish' inside the house - not even for Dudley (who had to watch those movies at a friend's place).

A Dudley who, two months after having last seen Harry, had so enjoyed some parts of his time in juvenile prison that he was even now playing weird object insertion games with his new friends he'd made back in England, getting an infection that would haunt him for months.

Back in Gotham, however, Poison Ivy was fondly gaging the green eyed boy's reaction, which was even better than she'd hoped. Stepping up regally into the coach, she resumed speaking, "I've been trying to do something to go along with Selina's Cat-illac, and the infernal Bat-wagon, but wasn't about to get one of those pollution contraptions. Then I was so afraid this vine wasn't going to make it. If not for you, it wouldn't have... oh, bother."

Young Harry, determined to be helpful as his so-very-recent acceptance was no more firm in his mind than the whims of ever-fickle Dursleys, had taken Pamela's hand, trying to help her into the pumpkin carriage.

Unfortunately for him, Poison Ivy was well known as creating the most deadly toxins in Gotham City, often secreted from her lips and administered with a kiss. But her skin was toxic as well, and though not usually fatal she had been rather stressed earlier on her trip home from Arkham thinking of how so many of her plants must have died. She'd always emitted poisons based on her mood, and she'd been in a killing fury before she'd discovered that a wonderful little boy had saved her precious green friends. However, with said boy in her tub, Pamela had not had a good opportunity to wash off the rather potent poisons she'd secreted while in that gloomy and dangerous mood.

The boy, who hadn't had the best care over his childhood and was still quite weak from years of malnutrition, fell over instantly, and Ivy sadly concluded that he wasn't likely to survive his attempted good deed.

Weighing the pros and cons of using him as plant fertilizer, then dismissing that thought as unworthy of her and that any boy so talented and loyal to the perfectly green realm of her home had to be nursed back to health, Ivy held out a hand and allowed a sarsaparilla to deposit an ivy-decorated syringe within her palm. Bending over the boy's shaking and shuddering form, she injected him with a serum she'd used on Harley Quinn once before, one which had given her an immunity to all toxins and poisons.

In her mind, she excused this maternal moment on him having such beautiful green eyes, and of course for her owing the survival of her babies to him. After all, a humble yet dedicated assistant gardener was hard to find, even more so one whom Ivan was fond of playing Catch with.

As the possibly unique green serum disappeared into his veins, the quaking and shuddering ceased, then Harry was up and bouncing and ready to go moments later, already apologizing for having fainted on her, and by doing so showing just how potent the Queen of Green's knowledge of biochemistry was.

She smiled and said nothing, allowing him to help her mount into her carriage before the vines pulled him in after. Ivy gave an imperial nod and the hanging moss at the entrance parted. Then the doors of her greenhouse rolled back, and the pumpkin carriage rolled out, spinning four hoops of vines like a Texas rodeo man spun a lasso, driving them out into the night of Gotham City.

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Author's Notes:

Again, not much to say.


	3. Chapter 3

The Wizard of Gotham  
by Skysaber

Chapter Three

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Sometimes, when you are going about your insane plan, someone comes along with a suggestion for an even more insane plan and you've just gotta do it.

So, kudos to Wings of Lead for coming up with a plot twist so crazy that I just had to run with it.

Too bad that will have to wait for a chapter or two, though.

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There was something of a tradition among the Gotham Rogues to hold a "Getting out of Arkham" party for fellow rogues you weren't personally at odds with.

Gotham was, when you stopped to think about it, quite a small town for so many high profile villains to run around in. There were really only so many things to steal. It was inevitable they'd run into each other, cross schemes, foul plots, and so on all without meaning to. It was a situation where they'd all had to make a choice to either learn to get along, or spend as much time fighting each other as they did the Bat.

So, looking at it that way, the costumed criminals had, with some notable exceptions, found themselves learning to tolerate the other guy's food, attire, music, weird theme crimes or propensity for holding the city for ransom (and in the latter case, learn to take turns).

And, nothing turns a bunch of hardened criminals into drama queens as much as a chance to swap stories and talk shop. So every now and then they had started throwing each other parties, and one of the first of those was the 'Welcome out of Arkham' bashes.

It wouldn't take very long for certain individuals to get too free with the SmileX and kill any desire to continue those grand parties on any kind of scale, but it was for the moment a going tradition.

At this early point in their careers the Gotham Rogues Gallery had not grown as large as it would later become, neither was there yet an Iceberg Lounge, as the Penguin was still a master criminal operating more or less publicly and not even remotely to the point of appearing to settle down to fence and broker information for the others.

The Penguin was himself present, as was the Mad Hatter, Catwoman and Harley Quinn, all having been on fairly good terms with Poison Ivy lately.

The Scarecrow was present not because he felt any kind of camaraderie with the nature-loving redhead, but precisely because he knew that Poison Ivy had been between plant-sitters and he wanted to fuel the fear of future nightmares for his victims by exploring the explosion of an irate Poison Ivy fresh after finding out her precious plants had just died wholesale from dehydration and the cold.

So for him it was strictly business to attend.

The oddest thing about any meeting of Rogues was how normal the whole affair seemed. You would think for a group of costumed criminals they would be far more dramatic at a party than they were...

...Well, okay, they were. The Scarecrow put fear gas into the party balloons then spent the rest of the evening on ominous whispers or something, trying to get a rise without getting kicked out. Everyone knew better than to put on any of the party hats that Jervis, the Mad Hatter, was offering (you could never tell when he had put one of those mind-controlling micro chips into one and it was better safe than sorry).

Catwoman stole a jeweled tie pin from the Penguin, who was in turn unable to interest her in trying his own special eggnog, and Harley Quinn was smiling at poor Jervis, who didn't notice that she was pouring crazy glue on his teacup.

Ivy, when she arrived, was almost a relief from all of the pre-party warmup that had been going on.

When they saw her carriage pull up outside of the fancy restaurant whose terrified staff was gingerly serving the 'reformed' criminals (who, with the exception of Selina Kyle, aka Catwoman, who had never been caught, were all merely between trips to the insane asylum themselves - but since they hadn't committed any KNOWN crimes since their last arrest and release, were presently untouchable), Harley remarked, "ooh, Puddin will want one of those. If he can carve it into a Jack-o-lantern, that is."

The Scarecrow looked up with a bit more professional interest, "Agreed. I might be interested in that myself. But that reminds me, how did she get a pumpkin to survive the winter? Don't they wither at the first sign of frost?"

"You mean you weren't plant-sitting for her?" Catwoman turned away from her inspection of the other guests, marking notable pieces of jewelry and connecting them to faces, just in case she ever became bored with the big wholesalers that made up the diamond district.

"I was in Arkham myself until two days ago. Besides, I got there because of a disagreement betwixt us. She did not want me exploring her plants' response to fear."

At that moment, everyone had realized, belatedly, that Pamela's plants had not been cared for during her two-month or so stint at Arkham, and that a killing spree was probably on her order of business.

"Kwak! Check please!" Penguin stood up, lagging, along with half of the other criminals behind the true front runners, like Catwoman, who already had her purse and was halfway to the door, when they were stopped by a melodious sound.

It was laughter.

Pamela Isley was laughing merrily, by the sound of it.

Coming through the door, Poison Ivy was escorting a small boy and laughing aloud like nothing was wrong with the world. No sooner was she through the entrance than she caught the eye of the closest Rogue, which was of course Catwoman, and just had to share her delight.

"Oh!" and here Poison Ivy snorted, her merriment overcoming her control. "Oh! Catsy, you have to hear this! Go ahead and tell her, Harry. What did you see on that night?"

"Well," the small boy became aware of the number of eyes on him as Pamela guided him, chortling, to the table where a number of people in wonderfully creative costumes stood, seating themselves in wonder as his guardian snickered inside of her sleeve. But he was a brave lad who didn't falter beneath their attention long. "At first I didn't know what to think. I mean, there was this demon who had all these horns and wings attacking a pretty ballerina lady. But then it just turned out to be a burglar who was kidnapping her."

"Kidnapping her?" Jervis asked, with a cup of tea glued to his lower lip, forgotten in the rush to escape Hurricane Ivy.

Harry nodded firmly. "Yes! He had this black cape, and horns on his head, and was all covered in black so he looked like a bat. He jumped around alot. He also threw things. But when I saw him beating up on the ballerina lady I got scared. Then he took her and went away."

"Kwak! So you saw the Bat take Poison Ivy?" Penguin chewed on his cigarette holder, while everyone there was astonished at Poison Ivy's calmness over just having come from a nest most assumed would have been in a dreadful state by now. They were still wondering about the boy.

Again, Harry nodded firmly and decisively. "Yeah. I had no idea there were so many burglars in this city! I mean, he just came in and took her away! He also broke a window to get in, so I know he's not nice because breaking things is bad. Anyway, I had to do something or I'd freeze to death with the cold, and I hoped that by repairing the window and taking care of her plants, the nice ballerina lady would let me stay in her house so I wouldn't freeze. So I did."

Harley, at this point, collapsed on the floor in laughter, almost joined by Ivy, but the others still were having a hard time getting it. Most were getting too distracted by relief that someone, in this case it looked like a homeless waif, had taken over plant-sitting for the dangerous redhead.

"So, the nice ballerina lady, I mean Ivy, took you in?" Jervis asked, reaching for some butter, cup still dangling, unnoticed, from his bottom lip.

"Yup!" Harry nodded again, earnestly speaking to their surprise. "Her plants are great about feeding me and showing me around. They even help hide me each night!"

"Hide you?" the Scarecrow asked, detecting a note of fear. "What from?"

"Why, that nasty Bat-burglar!" Harry replied in horror, stunned that they didn't know. "Who knows when he might come back?! I mean, what if those were his regular hunting grounds, or something? And if he's a bat then he probably drinks blood. Or maybe he'd sell me off into slavery or something. I mean, if he likes kidnapping people, or..."

At this point the child's monologue was drowned out by the hooting, in some cases honking, laughter of the collected costumed criminals, who had finally pieced together what he was thinking.

Imagine! A child, afraid of the Bat! Oh, this was too rich!

Pamela Isley fell out of her chair, so weak she was with her giggles. Harley fell right over her, before rolling around knocking over chairs. Catwoman let herself go in loud guffaws and Penguin was nearly blind, as he was crying tears over this moment of unexpected hilarity.

Jervis nearly choked on a scone he'd been absently eating at the time. But he laughed as much as he hacked and gagged, turning purple the whole time.

The Scarecrow was the only one not laughing. No, he had other business to attend to in mind. He spoke seriously to the young lad, "Yes. You do well to fear that creature of the night. Each of us here has been attacked, most of us 'kidnapped', by this foul 'burglar'. He haunts our steps and makes us live in constant apprehension of his attention, for he strikes unseen and out from the darkest shadows."

"Meow," Catwoman bared her claws in Scarecrow's face, effectively silencing him while she beamed a smile to the young lad. "Never mind the Scarecrow, Harry." She recalled his name from Pamela's earlier introductions. "Not all of us fear the Bat. In fact, I think he's rather cute."

This instantly earned the admiration of the impressionable child, who blurted, "I KNEW I liked cats! First there was that really good book about one in a hat playing with kids, and now you aren't afraid of the Bat!"

Ignoring Jervis' choking, laughing, purple faced comment about, "Would you like a hat?" Catwoman smiled for the boy. "Yes, Harry. I'm not afraid of the big, bat Bat. Unlike most here." She smiled in a feline, self-satisfied way to show the other Rogues there was no harm done.

There wasn't. They knew Selina was uniquely able to charm the Bat off her.

Harry blurted out again, "Wow! You're awesome! Can you teach me? I don't want to be afraid of the Bat either!"

Catwoman was now pretending feline indifference. "I'm afraid that you don't have what it takes."

Then she laughed herself when Poison Ivy recovered enough to lay a hand on Harry's shoulder and grow two enormous coconuts inside of Harry's shirt, before collapsing back into helpless fits of merriment.

Harry enjoyed the circus they went to afterwards, even though he was terrified by the high wire breaking and the Flying Graysons falling down so very hard.

Seeing the panic on her young boy's face as they fell, Pamela caused the grass on the circus floor to shoot up to about ten feet high, making a thick mat on which they fell. It was enough to save the performer's lives, but not enough to save them from injuries, broken bones, or entering comas.

The pair of performers had to be hospitalized and entered long-term care. It was doubtful they would ever recover completely. Their son was devastated.

But to see the shining admiration on Harry's face at her attempt to save those people made Pamela Isley's heart swell within her breast.

OoOoO

Poison Ivy was relaxing in the embrace of her bathing pond three weeks after introducing young Harry as her henchkid, when her plants informed her of a pair of intruder entering the greenhouse.

Her watch vines informed her that it was not any of the humans they knew, and the pair immediately began to attack young Harry, who'd been struggling with a water bin twice his size (he was a far better gardener once her serum dramatically increased his strength and speed).

"Who DARES?!?" The Queen of Green got up imperiously, allowing her willow to dress her in leafy green combat tights as she strode unafraid to meet the unwise assailants, whoever they might be.

There were two of them, an old man and a greasy haired one, both in odd attire. The old man seemed content to let the younger one lead the attack, offering support as the sour-faced one chased her henchkid and shot bolts of light at him from some sort of wand.

Harry was nimble enough, particularly with the changes wrought by her immunity serum, to dodge fairly well, but he was not yet well trained in combat (something that Ivy resolved immediately to fix) to set an unpredictable pattern. So the sneering one was able to shoot her apprentice with a bolt of light that paralyzed him, before stalking forward to claim the immobile Harry as if he was a fallen fruit to pluck from the ground.

Poison Ivy was not surprised, merely gratified, when Harry chose to 'pop' out of existence before this attacker's advance. To her mind this was proof of her boy having a meta-gene, and therefore simply underscored what a good choice she'd made in selecting him as her assistant gardener in the first place.

With a meta-gene he'd make a suitable sidekick, even. So long as that did not interfere with his other duties, of course.

She was unconcerned, as Harry had the good sense to 'pop' to the shelter of Ivan's tentacles, arriving partially hidden under his fronds. Her giant, mutant flytrap remained perfectly still, hoping to lure the attacker in to close range, and the greasy-haired one obliged them, stalking forward as if he was sure of his own invincibility.

Ivan consumed the greasy-haired attacker in a surprise flurry of movement before resuming a peaceful pose, knowing there was other prey about it might lure in closer. But Poison Ivy had already taken it upon herself to confront the older man, who called out once or twice for his assistant before moving to where the sounds of fighting had ceased, where that assistant had just disappeared into the gullet of her man-eating baby.

The man had not gotten far into her abode before she moved against him. It was a hairy old man, but from his dressing gown with purple stars, wand, and long silver beard, the Chosen of Gaia immediately categorized him as a costume-wearer, and therefore a potential threat. He and his companion had already been throwing bolts of light about. She knew better than to permit him to take the initiative and use his unknown attacks to seize an advantage.

No, she wasted no time and Greened him immediately, puffing her special pollen in his face before he could see her and taking over his mind through those silly male weaknesses.

The old magician actually appeared to struggle against her unique form of hypnotism for a second, so she doubled the dose and sprayed him again.

He became very docile and cooperative at that point, which was a good thing for him, as she'd already prepared to have her vines drag him to Ivan for early consumption if he continued to resist.

The funny thing was, immediately upon picking her out from the concealment of her leafy allies, the old man's eyes crossed and he addressed her, "Lily?"

Pamela Lillian Isley strode forward out of the foliage, peering carefully at this stranger. "How do you know that name?"

"The boy... Harry," the man muttered in some confusion, before his face cleared up and he began to speak more clearly. "Oh, Lily. It's so good to see you alive! I left your poor son, Harry, with your sister Petunia, but he wasn't very well treated there. When I'd heard they'd abandoned him in this city I came at once to find him. But to see he is with you..." his eyes crossed and he looked drunkenly puzzled, scrambling for thoughts just out of reach, so she dosed him again. This was, after all, very interesting, and the wizard obliged her by continuing. "Tell me, Lily, how is it you survived? We thought you and James had both perished that night Voldemort attacked. And how did Harry know to find his way to you?"

Poison Ivy grinned in a smugly superior way. Well, it looked like it was about time for her to learn the history of her new sidekick. How interesting.

Once he had accepted her as this Lily person, who was apparently Harry's mother (and she had to compliment her boy on having such good judgment as to have a mother and aunt named after flowers), the old man became surprisingly helpful, a true font of information.

It was not long before Ivy understood how great a resource was available to her by impersonating this Lily person. Apparently, Harry's parents had great wealth and properties.

Both were always useful.

OoOoO  
Author's Notes:

Ah, would you believe that it gets even more insane after this? The next chapter is one of my favorites.


	4. Chapter 4

The Wizard of Gotham  
by Skysaber

Chapter Four

OoOoO

The thing about killing Snape is that it's so deeply soul-satisfying that no one can do it just once!

OoOoO

Pamela Isley could hardly have been more pleased with herself.

She had graciously said nothing when her newest devoted follower said a few words that made Ivan disgorge the greasy-haired one, who wisely did not grumble too loudly about the experience... Well, not after Ivan ate him the second time, anyway. (After that, the sour one knew to heed the danger signal when her eyes flashed green).

Then, leaving Harry to care for her plants, she had followed this Dumbledore person to a nearby old brick building, through a fire that glowed green when you threw a pinch of powder into it and said "Hogwarts" (a very interesting herb, by the way, also known as the woolly croton and liked sandy or rocky soils), and into a castle in Scotland after a somewhat dizzying ride!

Traveling by anything green had to be approved of, even if it was fire, and to name a castle after an obscure but lovable plant was something she was heartily in favor of.

Oh, naturally they had to take the partially digested professor to a hospital wing. She couldn't call him greasy-haired any longer as Ivan had already eaten it all, along with most of the man's clothes, his wand, and a few measly outer layers of skin and muscle tissue.

Well, it was his own fault for attacking Harry that way!

Besides, he didn't really need those fingers anyway. Three per hand was already far more than a stinking animal like him needed, in her opinion. And toes were highly overrated, he should be glad not to have more than one!

But just to be sure that he didn't get an idea about trying that again she patted his clothes in a fake show of concern, leaving behind a seed for a giant sequoia on his trouser leg.

One of the largest living things on earth, far larger even than sperm whales, and its seed was smaller than a grain of rice.

They passed hundreds of students, who stared in something akin to awe as Dumbledore (who, she picked up from conversation, was a headmaster, and this was his school) levitated the ravaged body of their potions master past.

Pamela gave regal nods to any that met her eyes, feeling generous.

However, no sooner had the trio of adults walked into what she would later learn was the hospital wing, than Dumbledore called out to a recently arrived Madam Pomphrey, "Ah, Poppy" (Pamela once again found herself delighted by the prevalence of flower names) "Professor Snape requires your attention, as well as..."

Then that dratted Headmaster shot Pamela in the back with one of those stunning things!

As he moved her stunned body through the air and to a second bed, the aged headmaster continued chatting, "Lily Evans is not quite herself, I've noticed. No doubt you are as surprised as I to find her still alive, but I fear that whatever was done to her in place of death may well have cost her memory. That will need to be restored, of course. But if you would be so kind as to check her out for other lingering curses, aftereffects or enchantments?"

Poppy was already busy with her new patients. After casting a quick numbing curse at Snape, who moaned pitifully on his bed, she turned her full attention to the woman who looked a bit like Lily.

In truth, Poison Ivy did bear a decent resemblance, but not strong enough to convince Lily's old friends or the nurse who'd treated her injuries at school. However, offsetting that was the fact that people TRUSTED Headmaster Dumbledore, and he said this was her.

Naturally, if he'd said a potted plant was Lily Evans Potter, those closest to him (and indeed, most of the wizarding world) would instantly have believed this declaration.

A bit sad, as he wasn't thinking too clearly at present. Poison Ivy had used some very potent pheromones in large doses to cause him to trust her, yet he had a mind shielded by steel bands of Occlumency. However, he was not immune to poisons, even pollen based ones. So his physiology reacted, even while his mind was protected, leading to an emotion/reason conflict, that carried just a hint of confusion, and befuddled him enough to not notice either.

In consequence, Ivy had managed to cause that trust to form, but was not able to control his actions. And, as a result of his formidable mental shields, he had subconsciously sought a reason for that trust until he'd found one deemed suitable.

Thus, seeing as she had Harry, he imagined her as one of two people whom he would have trusted raising Harry - and only one of those was a woman with red hair.

According to that line of reasoning, she had to be Lily Potter.

Poppy, like so many others, simply believed him when he conveyed this conclusion to her. Part of that was the intense belief in him shared by most magical families, but also that was due in large part to the fact that, in a world of magic, it was possible to have your form altered to a greater or lesser extent, and they just had to deal with it whenever that came up.

And, indeed, Madam Pomphrey's diagnostic charms did reveal some rather extensive physical and mental damage to the patient, poisoned by some extremely rare and magical herbs, and mutated by her exposure to them.

This sort of thing was actually not that uncommon in magical England. Poppy saw three or four cases like it per semester, just not this extensive.

"Well," Poppy declared, when she was done casting those charms. "Lily has enough toxins in her system to kill every student at Hogwarts, and her whole magical core is devoted to coping with that. I'm not surprised the poor dear has trouble remembering things. You recall the Longbottoms? It's obvious to me she's been tortured, probably before You-Know-Who got to Harry, as the wounds are roughly that old. This sort of thing is usually seen to by the long-term ward at St. Mungos, but since all I'm detecting are plant-based injuries, except for a few months-old bruises, Pomona Sprout ought to be able to help me get rid of the worst of the damage. After that, we'll see."

"How is the integrity of her blood?" the Headmaster asked intently.

The poor medi-witch just shrugged. "It's over half chlorophyll by now. Some partial toxic plant transfiguration, I'd guess. But I never heard about You-Know-Who being into that sort of torment."

"Ah," Dumbledore nodded sagely. "I am afraid that Voldemort was given to experimentation in a wide variety of fields. I am not surprised that he found himself branching out into new territory in search of ways to debilitate or injure his enemies. That would also explain how Lily has survived. If he was more intent on performing experiments on her to expand his knowledge of torture and disfigurement, than in her immediate demise, then I could well see her being Portkeyed off to be mutilated while Voldemort remained to murder her son, as he did not view her as any immediate threat to him. That could also explain how she might have escaped, turned loose by a Death Eater torturer who would rather not be caught holding the bag, as it were, after his master got destroyed. But it would seem this did not happen, I am afraid, in time for her to escape injury altogether."

He sighed, shaking his head wearily at the memory of those awful times.

Drawing a fortifying breath of fresh air into his lungs, he bounced back to his usually chipper self. "Well, I cannot begin to express how glad I am to find her alive. Do you need any assistance to properly restore her? I must insist that her blood, above all, be restored to as pure a state as possible."

"Many of her memory blocks are totally gone," Pomphrey confirmed, looking through her patient's head with low-powered Legilimency. "I'm looking for a base to start rebuilding from. Hogwarts would do but I can't find it at all, and that makes me fear the extent of her personality damage." She stood back, sighing heavily, placing her hands on her hips in frustration. "To be sure of a total recovery, I'd need not only a personality fragment, but a sample of her physical status before this partial plant transfiguration. Otherwise, the best I may be able to do may not be very much at all."

The Headmaster gave her a benign smile. "I believe, Poppy, that I have just the things you need up in my office. I'll be back in a moment."

OoOoO

Paintings were able to move and talk because of special, magical paints that were used to create them, and those were prepared before the portrait was made, using a small fragment of a person's essence.

These were called Personality Fragments, and the way they were prepared was not dissimilar to taking up a collection of nail clippings of a person's soul, so to speak, and did no more permanent harm to a donor than taking a bit of hair to make a Polyjuice potion of them did.

Having been Head Girl in her day, Lily Evans had her portrait done on graduation day as a simple matter of course. These were routinely stored until that person did something noteworthy outside of school, whereupon that painting got hung on the school's walls to serve as an example and inspiration to younger generations.

However, so dear was his friendship to her that Dumbledore could not bear to activate her image and thus be continually reminded of her death. So it had stood, unactivated, in a closet, stacked with many other sleeping or inactive paintings, most of them old friends either of himself or the current staff.

He went and retrieved that painting now.

It would destroy the painting to do so, but the personality fragment imbued into the portrait could be restored to Lily Evans, returning her memories up to graduation day at least. As for the rest, with that sort of beginning it was more than likely that her mind would see to its own recovery with time.

One could not have done the same with an active painting and have anything like the same degree of success. So he was glad for the moment for his own weakness as a sentimental creature in not activating Lily's portrait.

That would return the majority of her memories to her, and the rest could be told to her, enabling her to resume her life with a bare minimum of confusion until such time as natural healing filled in the remainder.

As for the body, well, among the many mementos saved from the wreckage of their house at Godric's Hollow was a scrapbook with a lock of Lily's hair within it. It would be a fairly simple matter to take a bit of Polyjuice and give it to a person who could then stand by Lily's bed while Professor Sprout and Poppy restored her based on that model.

It could even be beneficial to ask Professor McGonagall to attend and perform a touch of human transfiguration, restoring Lily to her previous self, aided by the Polyjuiced example as a comparison.

While not quite a perfect solution, it came close enough and would serve as a cure for virtually all of the damage.

Most of Voldemort's victims had not been so fortunate.

It was marvelously elegant, and Albus Dumbledore felt massive relief over being able to come to the aid of a former student in so powerful a manner.

Why, she would be restored to near perfect health within days!

OoOoO

Now there were a number of costumed villains in Gotham City, and very few of them were what anyone could call sane.

Pamela Isley, otherwise known as Poison Ivy, was not one of those that any rational creature could say was among the saner half. She had her lucid moments, that was true, some kind as well as some deadly moods, but she was, in her own special way, as off her rocker as the Joker.

That sort of thing left her vulnerable and would lead to interesting consequences for her. A sane person had, for the most part, a stable, cohesive mind, where a crazy one was more fluid.

Now a stable mind injected with the personality fragment of another stable mind would fight against it and ultimately reject it, defeating and expulsing that fragment, consigning it to destruction.

An unstable mind didn't work like that. It didn't have the necessary cohesion, and couldn't muster the strength to expel a stable personality fragment. It was like dropping oranges through an orange-sized opening. If it already had one filling the entrance any further oranges would just roll off and fall away. But if that gap was just filled with orange juice... well, it wouldn't be the newly arriving orange that was the one moving out of the way.

Pamela Isley stayed unaware and unconscious as the Hogwarts staff went to work on 'restoring' her, and thus didn't have a chance to resist as they put the personality fragment of a strong-willed witch into her brain.

However insane she may be, however, Poison Ivy had quite a strong will of her own. The resulting battle in her brain would not be pretty.

Because, while not exactly cohesive, the mind of Poison Ivy was that of a villainess, and they always fought dirty.

Coming back into her room half an hour later, Madam Pomphrey found that Lily was thrashing on her bed...

And that a ten foot tree and grown up out of Snape's cot, consuming his left leg in the process.

As she watched,, too stunned to move, the tree grew another thirty feet and poked a hole in the hospital ceiling.

OoOoO

BEEP!

Harry went on working as the answering machine got the message. "Hi Pam! Harley. Listen, Catsy just got herself soaked during that freak storm last night. Plus, Freeze kinda knocked out all heat in that area with his latest 'hold the city for ransom' deal. So I'm worried she might catch a cold, poor dear. I'd drop in to look in on her but Puddin and I are going to the amusement park for some laughs. They just got a new ride and he wants to kill the attendant so we can get on as many times as we want! Then we are plannin to blow up the Tunnel of Love. Anyway, I was kinda hoping you could check in on Selina and make sure she's ok? Toodles!"

Thinking about what a kind person like Pamela would naturally do, Harry was already making his way across the greenhouse. Pushing the button to return the last incoming call, he smiled when Harley picked up and he asked her for Selina's address.

It turned out she lived in a penthouse just off the park.

OoOoO  
Author's Notes:

A special thanks to all of those lurkers who have broken their silence, and an extra-special thanks to have those who have stuck with me.

To my own surprise, this story is actually moving along fairly quickly. To be honest, this was NOT a fic that I was thinking I would devote much effort to. But hey, if people like it enough to tell me they want more of it who am I to argue?


	5. Chapter 5

The Wizard of Gotham  
by Skysaber

Chapter Five

OoOoO

Really, a running joke is what Snivellus deserves to be!

OoOoO

There was a theory, popular among many of Gotham's costumed criminals, that all that really separated the nuts from the normals was one Really Bad Day. Or, as Joker put it, "In my case, one rotten day and a vat of chemicals."

Waking up in the insane mind of Poison Ivy was probably enough to qualify for a Really Bad Day for the personality fragment of a seventeen-year-old Lily Evans, if anything was.

Thus, the struggle for dominance between their personalities took on a far more equal turn.

Then, only a few moments later, everything seemed to calm down, and the redhaired lady patient ceased her thrashing and began to sleep soundly at last. Madam Pomphrey gave a heartfelt sigh of glad relief, then sent word to the Headmaster that everything seemed to be going fine now.

In a cot beside the treasured female patient, on the far side of a redwood tree that was now growing through the floor, Snape kept up a near constant stream of obscenities and insults directed to 'that (censored) Potter woman!' as he submitted to the fearsome itches of having his skin regrown.

He already had appointments to be fitted with magical prosthetics for the leg and missing fingers later that day, and he knew of a magical wig shop in Knockturn where he could get a bargain, but there was no way he was going to be nice about this! Even if Lily couldn't hear him, he was going to tell her off ten dozen ways at least before he even hit his stride!

Then he'd tell her off again once she was awake and could understand him. There was no cursed flytrap to save her now!

He didn't even have to worry about James.

OoOoO

Harley's directions were a bit imprecise, more along the lines of, "Look for the doorman Mistah J replaced with a robot double and had kill all of the cats in the building. Oh! Selina threw him off a roof for that one! She woulda done worse if her pets hadn't been staying with Ivy," than anything those not 'in the know' would be able to follow.

Still, addresses were addresses, and she had managed to give him that much. So he found the place in spite of it being a heavily overcast day along a street of darkened lights (one of the many, it looked like half the town was out of power and they were right at the center of it, but luckily this one was right along the edge of Gotham Central Park, where he lived).

The doorman (who, presumably at one point had been replaced by a robot), was all bundled up in hat, scarf and parka over his usual uniform, although you couldn't see what else he had on through the heavy ski pants and military surplus winter boots. The guy standing in front of the elevator to show people to the stairs (which still worked) had on a Santa Claus costume left over from Christmas, complete with beard.

Both men actually seemed to let their eyes linger with pangs of jealousy over the steaming kettle of warm soup Harry was carrying. The doorman agreed to let him in in spite of not being on any guest lists in exchange for a cup.

He gave the guy in front of the elevator a cup out of pity.

Arriving at the penthouse apartment Harry was stunned. It was freezing up here! You would think that heat rising from the rest of the building would keep it warm. But no, either there was no heat to rise, or the winds from being exposed at the top of the building stripped it all away, as it was colder up there than it was on street level!

Harry knocked twice but received no answer. So, feeling a bit guilty about it and double-checking twice that he had the right address, he pushed on the knob hard so the little metal bit holding the door closed came through the wood of the frame, and let the door swing open.

The lights were out, but he was able to see by the moonlight streaming in through the big patio windows that had to look beautiful for the view, but were probably a big reason why it was so cold up here. The sleet had come down hard enough to crack some of the panes, leaving gaps that whistled and gusted (a problem the greenhouse did not have, as Ivy used bulletproof glass that would stop anything smaller than a Batman trying to swing through it).

At first Harry was surprised by the lack of cat symbols or toys all over the place. He knew that Ivy had plants everywhere, and would have felt terrible for breaking into the wrong apartment, if not for the pair of cat food bowls (rimmed over with frost) and a pet watering thingy (completely frozen).

Venturing further, he found a familiar purple cat costume discarded, soaking wet (and now frozen into a solid piece) in a rumpled pile in the hallway, along with some puddles of ice that must have been footprints.

Thus restored in his confidence that he had the right place, he followed the trail of droplets and icy footprints to a bathroom, where a big, fluffy towel was now cast unceremoniously over the sink, and frozen in patches.

Beside that, the toilet had shattered for the strength of the ice forming in both tank and bowl.

Reaching under the broken throne, Harry turned off the water spigot like his aunt had taught him to do the time they broke theirs while Dudley was chasing him (ineffectually) with a baseball bat. Then, just in case, he did the same for the sink.

Finally, the boy found his way to the bedroom.

There were two things that instantly caught his eye. The first was a hat-box, discarded and on its side on the floor just inside the door, that had a big copy of that hat the cat was wearing in the book he liked in it.

It looked unused.

Second, and what really caught his attention, was the big lump under a great stack of covers in the center of the bed. Inside that he found Selina, wearing four sets of sweats and a football jersey over that, two cats huddled with her, and in spite of that he could see her shivering and imagined that he saw her lips just a touch blue.

He'd just lifted up the pot of stew to put it next to her and was wondering how to serve her, or if he should wait until she woke up, when a voice intruded on him from the bedroom door.

"And so the wind begins to blow,  
first rain, then sleet, and now it's snow.  
Through it burglars creep to grasp a trove  
But who dares to enter Catwoman's abode?"

A man stepped out into the diminished daylight coming in through the big bedroom windows. He was wearing a greet hat and mask, with a gold question mark on the top of a cane that he held menacingly, but the rest of the man was masked by a comically oversize fur coat, smelling of mothballs. Although he did not know it, that style of coat was last popular in the 1920s, but it was the warmest thing Eddie had been able to find on short notice, stuck in the back of a stage's costume department.

Anything warm that was for sale had already sold. The guy who ran the desk at a Jewish bakery down the street had on a full Nazi WWII winter uniform that had been dredged out of some attic, while the girl who served the coffee had on the woolen pants, fur-lined cap, jacket and boots of one of the British pilots who'd bombed them - and over that she'd thrown a bathrobe.

Harry was very careful not to move as he answered, "Harley called and said Selina might be sick, so I brought her some warm soup. But she wouldn't answer the door, so I broke it, and found her like this."

"So you're Ivy's new henchkid, are you? Jervis told me about you. First thing we've got to do is show you how to pick a lock." Riddler dropped his fighting pose, already having noticed the kid was there with a ladle of steaming warm soup poised halfway to Selina's face. As he watched, she woke up and slurped it down, and the kid began to spoon more to hold under her poor, cold nose.

"I'm not a henchkid any longer. She promoted me to sidekick because I can teleport."

"Oh?" Riddler said with very genuine interest. "That's very interesting. I may have to ask Ivy to let me borrow you for some jobs. But we should be getting Selina out of here in a hurry."

The kid cocked his head and stared at the Riddler in confusion.

"It's the Rule of Three, kid." Eddie went on, prompted by the expression of innocence. "A person can survive three minutes without oxygen, three hours without shelter (under conditions when you need it - and I'd say this storm easily qualifies), three days without water or three weeks without food. But between the sleet broken windows and the open staircase, the wind is blowing through this place like a haunted mansion, and this apartment doesn't count much for shelter. I came up here hoping to borrow enough cash from Selina to catch a plane ride out of here, but it looks like she needs sunny Florida even more than I do."

Nodding, Harry carefully bundled up the blankets around Selina, leaving the cats in there for the little comfort and warmth they offered, and picked the whole bundle up in his hands, although requiring some careful positioning to keep from spilling her out of his grasp.

Smacking his lips at this admittedly minor display of super strength (the kid looked like a ball of blankets plus two itty bitty legs) Eddie led the way down the stairs. But his plans stopped when he asked the doorman to summon a cab for the airport.

"Don't go there, sir. All flights are grounded. It's the ice, sir."

The Riddler lifted his face to watch the snow coming down and admitted that he'd not been prepared for that. He sighed, and waved the young boy to a safe whispering distance from the doorman. "Well, c'mon, kid. My apartment isn't much better than Selina's, but we can't leave to her freeze like this. I can at least put some cocoa on if I burn a few of Joker's invitations to discover the Final Riddle over at his latest death trap."

The bundled up villain blew on his hands to warm them, then shoved them into his overly furry armpits, not looking forward to the long trip at all.

"But the greenhouse is right nearby, and it's warm." Harry puzzled.

"Warm did you say?" Eddie had a sudden smile, before magnanimously waving him on. "Lead the way, and riddle me this: How does Ivy keep her place warm while the rest of Gotham freezes?"

"You'd have to ask her. But how did you know about me?" Harry asked as they walked toward the cover of those wonderfully concealing fir trees.

Eddie answered as he spun his golden tipped cane, then cut off with a shiver as that motion allowed a breeze to snake inside of his coat. "The first thing you've got to know, kid, is if anyone knows more about the lives of Gotham's elite, and by that I mean the costume wearing set, than Batman, that person is Jervis. The man is an incurable gossip, and generally finds ways to learn anything worth knowing. If you need information on any of us, go to him. Just remember not to put on any hats while you are there. So, what is Ivy up to that she sent her one and only sidekick off to tend to poor Selina?"

Harry frowned, still worrying and careful not to spill Selina out from her cocoon of blankets. "Some guy came and attacked us, then he and his hench took her away."

"Oh?" The Riddler sensed here both a puzzle to be solved and a potentially dangerous situation they could be waltzing into. Then again, if it was still a WARM and dangerous situation, then he could cope. "Not the Bats, then, if he had a hench. So was it someone I should know?"

Harry shrugged. "All I know is he wore a costume and called himself The Headmaster."

Eddie's professional interest was piqued. "So, did he play any mind-tricks on our precious poison petal?"

Harry nodded, at first firmly, then doubtfully. "I think so. She tried hers on him, and mentioned later that she'd never seen anyone resist harder. Then he said a few things and made our flytrap give up the henchman it had eaten. Then she went away with him... and hasn't been back."

Eddie was nodding. "Hmm, I'll let the word out among the other Rogues that a new face has come to play, and see if anyone knows anything. Trying a plot against another Rogue isn't unheard of for a first scheme, but it is daring. If this Headmaster fellow can pull it off, then he bears watching. Being a better mind-meddler than Ivy is already a noteworthy accomplishment, as is getting one of her plants befuddled, and it could serve us well to be on our toes."

Arriving at the Greenhouse and entering, Eddie cast his giant fur coat aside and stood basking in the returned warmth taking the pins and needles out of his nose and fingertips, while Harry ordered the plants to unwrap Selina and put her in the tub for a warm bath and soak.

OoOoO

A few days later

Snape, walking across school grounds on his new artificial leg and cane, took a moment to pause and examine the hole in the hospital wing where a three hundred foot tall giant redwood, thirty feet around at the base, had grown out of his own leg before being removed and transported safely to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Grumbling loudly and sharply, he was about to go inside and resume his duties as Potions Professor when he felt two distinct taps on his shoulder.

Spinning around, ready to tear strips off the hide of whoever had disturbed his walk, when he saw a tree branch of the Womping Willow, stretched out to about twice its usual length, just before it reared back and slapped him hard across the face, knocking out many of his remaining teeth and sending him sprawling, slipping across the dew-slicked lawn (odd for afternoon), and off the cliff into Hogwart's lake.

The tree might well have rumbled in satisfaction as his screams cut off with a loud splashing sound.

OoOoO

As the storm had broken over Gotham, and Batman had Mr. Freeze once again on ice in Arkham, a redhaired woman emerged from a fireplace, in a flash of green fire, from a brick building on Park street, then sauntered easily across the street to the greenhouse hidden deeply among those trees. Once there, she took out her wand and immediately began to unshrink packages, smiling a pleased grin as she unwrapped the dozen healthy saplings she'd grown off cuttings taken from the Whomping Willow at Hogwarts.

And that Devil's Snare! How ever had she lived without it?

They'd have places of honor in her greenhouse. Dear me, it was almost getting time to expand the old place! Certainly she couldn't let Hogwarts have bigger greenhouses than her!

She had a reputation to maintain!

A part of her couldn't suppress a giggle at Professor Pomona Sprout. Poison Ivy hadn't had so plant-oriented a name before becoming a criminal. Some part of her was sure that woman had changed her name to suit her career, just as she had, and the rest wanted to giggle herself silly over all of the plant names she'd found at Hogwarts.

Back to unpacking. Last came boxes and bags, everything that once belonged to Lily Potter that her friends had been able to save from the house. The strictly magical stuff she left in the carefully warded trunk it all came in for perusal later, if she ever felt the need. But there were additional boxes and things inherited from the estate of Lily's parents, when they passed away, that presented a 'muggle friendly' picture of Lily's life and included everything from essential identification papers such as driver's license and passport on over to including the memorabilia of a long and well-lived life, such as class notes, elementary school papers, grade reports and letters.

Putting the various certificates and photos aside, she began looking around for a small, black-haired little boy.

Not finding him, she went to go listen to her messages.

OoOoO  
Author's Notes:

Ah. One of the dangers to this type of story is getting ahead of yourself, in this case writing scenes that I absolutely HAVE to use, but that don't occur anywhere in the story yet and I can't get to without a good bit of building up to that point.

Sigh, and they're some really good material, too.


	6. Chapter 6

The Wizard of Gotham  
by Skysaber

Chapter Six

OoOoO

Special thanks to dogbertcarroll for an interesting scene!

OoOoO

Beep

Hi Ms. Ivy, This is Harry. Selina was a bit frozen so I took her and Eddie to Bermuda. It didn't start out that way, but things kinda got messed up. Eddie showed me how to start a car when you lost your keys, so while we were looking for a way to lead the Bat Burglar away from the greenhouse I found this weird car nearby so I kinda borrowed it. It had these weird bat symbols all over it. Eddie was still woozy from where the Burglar had hit him so I had to drive, but I'm not too good at stopping so we were way, ways, away when he was able to show me how to stop. Then this big guy with a red cape and a S on his chest showed up. Did you know that if you concentrate really hard till your fist glows red you can hit a lot harder? Anyway, Eddie said it looks like the guy had a glass jaw with the way he fell down so fast and that we'd have to lie low for a while, so we went to the Riverside hideout and took the zucchini-boat, and, well, here we are! You can find us at Selina's place, as she says you know about her resort out here.

beep

OoOoO

Batman was seated in the Batcave, scowling at his monitor, many things on his mind. One was finding out why the entire security suite on the Batmobile had shorted out, so that the replacement systems could not be circumvented the same way. Half the town must have seen the Riddler waving to them from the open window of the Batmobile, Catwoman beside him.

The other part of his mind was on an earlier confrontation.

Mingled with that was a feeling of gratification. His new ward, Dick Grayson, had been coming along surprisingly well. In spite of wanting to keep him out of his nighttime activities, Robin had become a valuable asset.

The Dark Knight noted that between the obvious cheer of the Boy Wonder contrasting to his own dark and intimidating style, his own effectiveness at dealing with the villains to crowd his city was increasing markedly.

That was what led to them investigating Poison Ivy's Greenhouse, as well as the scoop on this latest criminal mastermind.

Batman had been knocking Two-Face about in a rooftop battle, but a comment of Robin's actually got the criminal distracted during the fight. "So, you're new. Don't tell us Batsy here has gone and gotten his own henchkid." Then, back to facing his superior opponent, Two-Face had gone on to ask, "Please soothe our aching hearts by saying you knew you were the second to do this?"

"What do you mean?" The Bat had growled out, in perfect form.

Two-Face had flipped the coin. It came up unscarred, and the villain got chatty, "Oh, don't tell us you hadn't heard, oh specialist of Gotham lore. Is it actually our honor to tell you that Poison Ivy had a boy for a sidekick before you did? Well, we can see that it is. You know, we could feel two ways about that. On the one hand pleasure that we knew something you obviously didn't. On the other, terror, because now Ivy is going to kill us for ratting on her. We console ourselves with the delicious irony that you are the second to pick up a boy sidekick."

Two-Face stabilized as he stumbled back. "But let us be among the first to congratulate you on now becoming a pair of costumed crimefighters, a truly Dynamic Duo, if we say so ourselves, and wish you the best of luck, until we kill both of you, that is. However, we cannot afford to let this stand at one piece of information. No, that wouldn't do at all considering who we are. So, to commemorate this stellar occasion, allow us to give you both a little tip, oh protector of Gotham, for a new player has joined the ranks of this city's underworld elite. We wouldn't want to spoil the surprise by telling you his powers, but..." the coin was flipped, unscarred side up once more. "We will tell you this much, the newest villain to creep along this city's sick and disgusting underside calls himself The Headmaster. We'll let you figure out the rest from there."

Two-Face had then popped a two-colored smoke bomb and nearly gotten away, dodging down a laundry chute. If not for the even-number on the door he'd tried escaping through on the second floor, he would not be in Arkham now.

That was the way Batman fought, by outthinking his opponents as often as outfighting them.

But to do that, he needed information, and information on this Headmaster fellow was just not forthcoming, as yet. That could very well mean that he was new to the costumed crime scene. Nevertheless, Batman would keep his eyes open for clues as to this newcomer's behavior.

There would be patterns, there always were. Those would lead him to this villain, and then he'd get treated just like the rest.

The mention of Poison Ivy having a boy for a sidekick was disturbing him, however. Concerned that she was corrupting an innocent, naturally he'd gone to investigate, and seen a glimpse of the child before he'd vanished into the greenery. Not anyone, his own opponents or the common criminal on the street, had that well developed of a flight reflex, startled into full escape mode on the briefest glimpse of him.

It was disturbing, and hinted at something deeper.

Batman had followed, avoiding Ivan's corner of the greenhouse and using Batarangs and other tools to fight off the other green pests that accosted him during his pursuit.

He'd fought very few people who were that good at running and hiding, and partway into the chase the boy had disappeared entirely, most likely down a prepared escape chute. There hadn't been time to search for it, as he'd been forced to turn his attention away, as the Riddler was stealing the Batmobile.

So Batman was seated in the Batcave, scowling at his monitor, in particular staring at a surveillance photo of Poison Ivy going to a restaurant, out with her new protege at a meeting with other Rogues. It was useful to monitor such appearances, when they did them in public, as that gave him a useful measure of what alliances could be forming among his enemies. But nagging at the back of his mind was the boy's appearance. He knew that he bore a resemblance to someone he knew. But who?

His computer was already running comparisons, but he had already dismissed the quintessential Rogues of Gotham. A fact which annoyed him, and threw the potential net much wider. A search through the full criminal database could take hours, and time might be important.

He knew there was something he was missing. But what?

Alfred came down to set a plate with a sandwich on it by his employer's elbow, as always obtaining a discrete look at the screen as he did so. This time he stopped to remark on it. "A startling likeness, sir. That unruly black hair is a distinctive feature, bringing to mind another young boy I once knew. I would almost take it for one of your childhood photographs were it not for the company. I wonder, perhaps, should I be making discrete inquiries?"

"What are you saying, Alfred?" he growled out, refusing to admit surprise.

"Other women, entirely without super-powers, have been noted to ensnare a better man than they might otherwise have been able to obtain a match with by the simple expedient of bearing him a child, sir." Alfred calmly went about dusting the area around his plate. "And I note that Poison Ivy was among your first foes, making a play to take Bruce Wayne as her paramour to gain access to his fortune, as I recall. A specialist in hypnotism, and enticing men. You have spoken more than once of how irked you feel over your incomplete memories of that occasion."

Batman was too strong a man to stare, horrified, at his butler as the possible implications set in.

OoOoO

Catwoman's cottage, actually her own private island (albeit a very small one) was not unknown to Pamela Isley, who grew her own Gourd Galleon to get there, using a new breed of female-looking plant people she had been working on previous to her last trip to Arkham to crew the three-masted vessel. If the Greenhouse had frozen, they would have been put off for years, if not forcing to her to start over entirely in search of a path to a viable strain.

So far they were very promising. She decided to call this new race Feraks.

"Oh, Pammy, what took you so long?" Catwoman, in a one-piece bathing suit, called out from a deck chair, waving a drink with a straw in it.

Pamela sauntered up to her friend, putting her purse down on a table, as she sat down, feeling chatty. "Oh, I was just kidnapped by some wizards who injected another lady's brain into my head."

"WHAT?!?!"

"You heard me. Nasty people tried to turn me into Two Face, and of course there was no way I was going to allow that to happen. So, before the pair of us got exhausted and passed out completely, merging with who-knows-what consequences or random effects, she and I sat down to negotiate what would remain of each of us in the new, dominant personality that formed out of us when we combined into a single person."

"And... how does that work exactly?" Selina put down her drink to peer at her friend over the tops of her sunglasses, noting some distinct changes to her appearance as she did so - all subtle things, like facial structure, were just a little off, making her look (to those that knew her) like a brand new person.

Lily Potter, though Selina had no way of knowing that.

"Oh, very simple, actually. It's all a dreamscape anyway, so we imagined up a nice lounge suite, suitably decorated with plants, of course, and we sat down to bargaining. She insisted on keeping her school years, and those were so massively useful that I had to agree. But then of course I wanted mine, and seeing as how much I knew that she didn't naturally she agreed. Then she learned that I had her son living with me, so she wanted to keep everything she had on his father, which I was not terribly comfortable with, let me tell you, but in exchange she let me keep my beloved plants, and there you go. I had to agree once she put it that way. We agreed to keep her family, as she loved them so very much and I honestly didn't care for mine. But in exchange I made her let me keep my life of crime, although to be honest I'm not all that interested in pursuing that career anymore. Dear little witch seems to have slipped in a certain amount of distaste for it. Oh, well, it's not like I'll hurt for money in any case. Well..." she got a playful grin, "Maybe I won't be giving it up all at once. There are one or two scores I'd still like to settle."

Catwoman was, for the moment, speechless.

Pamela shrugged. "Anyway, I can't recall all of our agreements, it seemed literally everything had to be hashed out, but I am glad to have her memories of family in here because we agreed that, since those nasty wizards were modifying me into her near clone anyway, that I may as well pretend to be her. And if it turns out that she's not dead, we are already agreed that I can pass as her twin sister. But it's not like there is a great chance of that happening. The man who was convinced I was this Lily had seemed quite certain she was dead."

"Uh huh," Selina stated, then playfully inquired, "And how many times has one of us been thought dead, only to turn up a few months later?"

"Oh dear." Pamela paled.

"Yes, dear. Quite."

"Well, I'd better look into it then. Pity, I was hoping to get some extra time for planting. This is sprouting season, you know. Now your turn, where is Harry?"

Selina didn't even spend a moment blinking as she assimilated and adapted to the fact that this wasn't a fellow villain asking about her sidekick sort of question, this was the voice of a mother inquiring about her son. She slid her glasses back on and leaned back with a smile. "Oh, he's inside. Eddie is teaching him how to mix drinks."

Pamela got up to go in. "Good, I'm going to go see him. Those people the Headmaster had him staying with were positively dreadful! But at least I got him to stop paying them support money - out of MY accounts! You and I are going to have a little talk later about how to get him back for that."

And with that, she skipped off to see her son.

OoOoO

"Have you made any progress on your research of the young lad, sir?"

Lounging back in his chair, body seemingly at ease yet at odds with the fiercely determined set of his face, Batman answered, "Yes. The boy's most distinct features are some notable flaws in his backstory. His name is Harry Potter, left on the doorstep of a family in Surrey four years ago. The family, a Vernon Dursley, his wife Petunia Evans Dursley, and their son Dudley, were left with the tale that the boy was the offspring of Lily Evans, sister to Petunia, and a James Potter. However, I broke in to Poison Ivy's greenhouse again to do a search, and the identity of Lily Evans is one she has apparently been using for years. Her records for this were surprisingly complete. Also, this James Potter does not exist in any database I have been able to find. No records of any sort cover the person 'Lily Evans' supposedly married. There was no record of his birth, education, their marriage or even deaths, and the car crash in which this couple was supposed to have died never happened."

"Your conclusions, sir?" Alfred asked politely, and with strict formality.

Batman gave in to the urge to rub his eyes. "'Potter' is a fairly obvious alias for our vine-happy friend. Also, calling her alternate identity 'Lily' after her own middle name of Lillian, choosing a woman named Petunia for a sister, all plant centered names, even the address at which the surrogate family lived: Privet Drive, when privet is a kind of hedge, specifically a privacy hedge used to conceal. No, this goes so far beyond coincidence as to be unbelievable as anything but a setup. Poison Ivy might just as well have advertised that this was all arranged to create a false ID for herself - Which could be the case. Whenever one of the costumed criminals of Gotham goes to such lengths to make something obvious they want it to be found, and this has Poison Ivy's vine marks all over it."

Releasing a pent up breath at the admission he was about to make, Batman continued, "Then to name the boy Harry, an obvious reference to his most outstanding feature, aimed to draw my attention to the fact that his hair is identical to my father's and mine, a noted Wayne trait. His being left on a doorstep to highlight that he is not staying with his natural parents, and the fake story of those parents' deaths so obvious that you don't even need to be a detective to find holes in it, as that car accident never occurred. I have to conclude that she wanted me to find this, when she deemed the time was right. She didn't even bother to conceal it, only stashed it away in England so I wouldn't notice it at once, and even that might have reference to my time in college there, or to your presence, as she knows Bruce Wayne has an English butler. Every aspect of this has the same sort of identifying mark."

Said English butler waited in patient silence.

Batman was falling into a more sure rhythm as he stated off the noted facts of the case, "Once more, Vernon Dursley flew with his family to Gotham early this year to meet with me. If he hadn't been so obviously dishonest, a noted flaw in most villainous henchmen, I probably would have met his family as the deal went through and we signed the documents over lunch. Harry was dressed in rags, I have the surveillance tapes of the museum where they passed the time and it's almost comical how they exaggerated his poverty while the rest of the family was overfed and overdressed. Bruce Wayne is a noted philanthropist, it would have been impossible for the head of the Wayne Foundation not to notice or start inquiries into the mistreated boy. Then the rest of this story was made to be exposed."

A few keystrokes brought up a passenger list showing the Dursleys, but no Harry, whose ticket had been turned in for a refund, without being used. "As if this weren't enough. Harry failed to return to England with his family, who were arrested by the way, a common means of disposing of minions without paying them the promised end-of-assignment bonus, and rather substantial monthly deposits to the Dursley banks accounts have stopped now that they are no longer caring for the boy."

The Dark Knight of Gotham then brought up an image, taken through a roof at night, of a laughing Harry working alongside Poison Ivy in her greenhouse.  
"Harry has since been staying with his mother in her Gotham Central Park address in an obviously affectionate relationship. What's more, he is a skilled gardener, extremely gifted for his age. Pamela Isley could not have made this 'hidden child' more obvious or easier to find. And from the Dursley episode it is apparent that she has already tried to bring it to my attention once."

Once more keystrokes changed the display, this one to a fancy restaurant where Pamela and Harry were eating while chatting away. "Her taking him out for daily meals, before her abduction by this latest villain interrupted the schedule, when Poison Ivy had typically dined alone could be categorized as a second attempt to gain Bruce Wayne's attention. Society has already noted the boy's vivid green eyes. Between that, and her maternal affection for him, the gossip columns are already convinced that Harry is her child. It's only a matter of time before speculation turns to who the father is, and the distinctive Wayne appearance will be noted."

Batman withdrew his hands from the keyboard to rub his tired eyes once more. "She's given herself a near-perfect setup for a paternity case to sue for ownership of the Wayne fortune once I pass on (something which I'm sure she feels she could arrange). The fact that Bruce Wayne is infamous as a ladies man and playboy only strengthens her position. And the whole thing fits her criminal behavior patterns perfectly, as she is growing new life as the central point in a scheme to bring herself both wealth and influence."

"And now, sir?" The statement of interest was still a formal one.

"I have a son, Alfred." Batman declared. "Now all I have to do is find a way to bring him home, and to find a way to do so without the demise of Bruce Wayne or giving Poison Ivy the keys to the Manor."

"Do you have a plan, sir?"

"I always have a plan, Alfred."

OoOoO  
Author's Notes:

Sounds like a strong case, doesn't it? It's only flaw is that it's WRONG!! But hey, even Batman isn't perfect.

He just tries harder than most.

Oh, and the red light around Harry's had was an accidental stunning spell. Superman is not immune to magic, one of his few vulnerabilities.


	7. Chapter 7

The Wizard of Gotham  
by Skysaber

Chapter Seven

OoOoO

Clark Kent was in Wayne Manor holding an ice pack to his jaw while Bruce Wayne listened to his story about his recovery of the Batmobile. Dick Grayson, who was Bruce's ward at least until his parents recovered from their comas, and Alfred both hung out in the background, both attentive but trying not to disturb the discussion.

Clark rubbed at his bruise, marveling. "So this young boy, he couldn't have  
been more than 6 or so, rears back and nails me in the chin and the next thing I know I'm waking up several hours later wearing lipstick and eye shadow with the Catwoman's phone number stuffed in my... err waistband."

Bruce's voice automatically slipped into a typical Batman growl. "So the child with the Riddler and Catwoman knocked you out with one blow?"

It was in somewhat ashamed good humor that the Man of Steel muttered, "Yeah," still working his jaw around the bruise. "I was beaten by a kid..." Clark stated to himself in disbelief.

"So! Like father, like son, huh?" Dick Grayson chirped out.

He got surrounded by shocked stares.

The Boy Wonder merely chattered on, oblivious to the reactions of certain others, "Man! I can recall the first time Bruce hit me in training! I thought I'd be seeing little tweety birds for a week!"

Suddenly, the attention he was receiving registered and Dick trailed off in nervous tension. "Uh, at least that's what it seemed like. What? Didn't you just say that Bruce's son hit hard too? All I was saying is that they're alot like, that's all..."

Bruce Wayne avoided the astonished stare of Superman by directing his gaze to the butler, who coughed into his fist and apologized, "I am afraid, master Bruce, that I may have informed young master Grayson of the existence and identity of a True Heir, lest the young lad should get disappointed about not becoming an inheritor of the estate."

Dick shrugged. "Hey, what do I care? As soon as my parents get out of their comas we're going back to the circus, right? That's where we are happy and can do our own thing. So the old man has a kid, huh? Good for him!"

A twitch appeared at the side of Bruce Wayne's face.

"Bruce," Clark Kent asked, wonder evident in his voice. "Is that a smile I see at the corner of your face?"

Batman, thinking of the possibility of a kryptonite ring or brass knuckles, or even an improvised rock in the fist, quietly resisted the urge to cry out, "That's my boy!"

Clark cleared his throat, speaking mildly, he asked, "And how close is this information to going public? Are there any signs people could pick up on?"

Bruce sighed before admitting, "There are vague rumors already beginning to circulate. Poison Ivy has been parading him around society circles in Gotham where his appearance will inevitably be connected to mine. Gossip columns are bound to begin speculating any day now."

Nodding, Clark (ever the boy scout) resisted the urge to go for his pen - for now. "And how are you planning to control what gets said? Before you answer, I'd like to offer my help. After all, I am a reporter."

Bruce was both pleased and sad as he answered, "And if you are the one to present it, you control how and what information gets released, meaning you get to choose the impression the public gets of this. I see and understand. Yes, I could use your help on this."

Clark pulled out the pen and made a helpless gesture. "Also, it would make my editor and Lois happy if I came out with a real scoop."

"I am sure this qualifies," Alfred nodded, before asking, "More tea, anyone?"

OoOoO

"So get this Catsy, you rob the diamond district... why?" Pamela sipped her iced soda laying on a beach chair beside Selina Kyle as they both watched Harry and Edward Nigma (also know as The Riddler, or more affectionately as Eddie) play tag on the sand, both noting with some amusement that the adult was slipping in some practical lessons on evasive combat techniques into their game.

"That's where the diamonds are," Selina noted, with some amusement as she watched Harry pull off his first intentional teleport - this one to get behind his playmate and tag him.

"Not all the diamonds," Pamela hinted smugly.

"No, but the best ones in the best quantities," Selina found herself actually rather curious about why her friend had even raised the question.

"Are you so sure about that?" Pamela leaned over, dipped a hand into her purse, and came out with a gemstone easily the size of a softball.

"Ooh!" Selina became Catwoman and slinked over to examine the flawless stone.

Not surprisingly, Eddie was there soon afterward. "Wow! Selina, you just about blinded me with your rock!" He spoke to the woman who was presently holding the gem. "Oooh! Now riddle me this: Where can I get one of those? Or better yet, several?"

"There's a simple answer to that riddle, Eddie," Pamela answered with a grin. "I know of a place that has thousands of those. It's called Gringott's. It's a little bank in England, servicing a very small community, and the head of that community is a man named Albus Dumbledore, though most people don't call him by name. That nasty little Headmaster has been robbing my accounts for years, and now I want to rob his, and his supporters, and the accounts of the minions left by another villain who just recently died."

"What kind of security?" Catwoman asked, professional even in her distracted admiration of the gigantic gemstone in her hands.

"Medieval," Pamela snorted. "Eighteenth century locks, at most, with a few dragons kept on guard. The bank is run by a mean little race of metas called goblins, but the real security is provided by a brand of spell called wards - and most of what those wards so is to prevent other spells from working to open the vaults. There are a few exceptions, but I can provide you examples to tinker around and play with, to get a feel for them."

"Why is security so light? And why have I never heard of this bank?" Selina Kyle inquired, coming out from under her Catwoman persona for a moment.

Poison Ivy just shrugged. "It's a secret community of wizards, led by the Headmaster I was talking about. Oh, he doesn't hold all of the power, but he does hold all of the strings of those that do, so he's pretty much behind anything they do. And the reason security is so light is that those wizards don't have the common sense of that crab over there. They're so dependent on their magic that if they can't do something with a spell they often won't do it at all. So all the bank had to do was block access via spells."

"Alright, I'm in," Catwoman declared with a feline grin, with The Riddler echoing her soon after. The world's preeminent cat burglar and the master of puzzles had no idea how unprepared their new prey were to meet them.

Suddenly, Ivy stiffened, and with a quick motion warned the other two Rogues to put the diamond away. They did so, and moments later perceived a man in a blue robe covered with stars approaching them over the sand of the private beach.

"Headmaster! What are you doing here? Don't you have a castle to tend to?" Pamela cried out, and noted the other two Rogues discretely disappeared into the bungalow as she did so.

Albus nodded, not quite his usual, cheery self. "Yes, unfortunately, I'm afraid I find during the middle of a term that I shall have to find a new Professor of Potions, as well as a new Head of Slytherin, as our last one got consumed by a raging case of Athlete's Foot. Now there's very little left of him. We were able to bury him in his favorite teapot. At first I suspected you might have something to do with it, as Poppy tells me that is merely a case of fungus and not very often fatal, but then the cheers of the school as I announced the sad news made me reconsider that perhaps it wasn't a student's prank gone wrong. Some of the muggleborns broke out into singing, "Ding, Dong, the wicked Snape is dead." Then when I called the Aurors in to investigate, they ruled that it was a suicide. Most puzzling."

Pamela blinked twice, before asking delicately, "Did any of those Aurors once have Snape as a teacher?"

Dumbledore nodded in sincere puzzlement. "Yes, both of them. Most amazing. One even confessed that Snape once confided in her that he'd always wanted to die of a case of lethal Athlete's Foot. I was inclined to doubt, but once the story got around literally hundreds of students came forward, and in between their gouts of laughter confessed that they too had heard him express this as his most heartfelt wish. It sounds like every class period he would make mention of it, from the sheer volume of witnesses. Now I wonder if I ever truly understood the man. If that was what he wanted, why did he not choose to confide in me?"

"Sometimes the people closest to you are not the ones to confide in, just because they might be hurt by your message," Pamela said with a straight face.

Ivy watched as the Headmaster forced some cheer to return to his face. "Well, perhaps we can take comfort in the uniqueness of his passing, as most people could not choose to end their lives in such a fashion. It takes a wizard of true expertise and creativity. Perhaps, yes, perhaps he has left a lasting mark after all."

"Yes, of course," Pamela struggled hard to contain her laughter.

"Lily," Dumbledore directed an appeal toward her. "I was wondering if I could prevail upon you to accept a teaching slot until the end of term. You needn't stay longer if you don't wish to do so, but I urgently need a replacement and require some additional time to track down a more experienced Professor to take over, should you not wish to accept the course as a long-term position. But meanwhile our classes are not getting taught."

OoOoO

All was well in England.

The weather was fine in Surrey.

Privet Drive looked peaceful, and in a certain house numbered four, the family had recently come to put their latest crisis behind them. They had all had their shots, the cupboard under the stairs had been plastered over so they could forget that it had ever existed, and Dudley had been given a new chain store model of toy that growled and shivered like an actual weapon which he used to terrorize the neighbor's cats.

Yes, for the moment, everything looked fine for the Dursleys, and the family was settling down to a good, long evening before the telly, where Vernon could forget, for a moment, that half of his income had disappeared since he was no longer playing host to the brat.

Sadly, those plans for a peaceful evening were about to change.

Petunia was in the kitchen with a book open, trying to remember how to cook (Harry had done all of that since he was old enough to reach the counters on a stool). Worse still for the put-upon housewife, nothing Harry made was ever good enough, so in an effort to avoid their mistreatment of him his skills had been ever-escalating, and now she was forced to admit that she had never, nor would she ever, be able to match his talents and the quality of their meals was never going to recover.

Nor was the quality of her formerly prize-winning garden.

Life had been so easy when all she'd had to do around the house was yell at Harry and sneer at whatever quality of work he'd done, then take all of the credit for that work before her admiring neighbors. His first 'toy' had been a dusting cloth, and his first 'game' had been to sweep the floors.

Oh, and he had always tried so hard to win, because to lose those games meant beatings.

Yes, life at Privet Drive just wasn't the same without their human house-elf, and the money they got paid for abusing him; although the family had yet to feel the real pinch on that one. Petunia was not the only one quietly dreading next Christmas or her son's birthday, when they wouldn't have the freak's gift money to spend lavishing on their own son. Nor was she at all looking forward to not being able to throw out all of their old clothes each season to purchase new wardrobes. And Vernon was already grumbling about having to drive the same car two years in a row.

Petunia had already gotten into one screaming fit with her husband over the necessity of having to hire a garden service to replace the work of the boy, since she couldn't be expected to do that much work, only to have him loudly and angrily counter that there just wasn't money for it.

Shots and medical bills from their recent... experience, had soaked up all of the extra from their formerly fatly padded bank account, and without the monthly stipend they were forced to rely on Vernon's paycheck, which was not half of what they were used to spending on themselves each month.

No new clothes, no new car, no cook or live-in housekeeper to make their meals and keep things spotless, a shabby yard and garden and Petunia was not so quietly dreading the loss of status she'd face among her neighbors that year.

She had a perfect image to maintain, after all!

But there just wasn't that much work in her, nor did she care to try. Harry had done five times the amount of cooking, cleaning and yardwork that she'd ever contemplated doing herself, and during the years they'd had him serving them the Dursleys had all grown lazy and dependent upon that boy's labors.

Petunia had even once, very quietly, since then held the thought of asking Dudley to clean up after himself in hopes of retaining some respectability among her neighbors, but wasn't quite brave enough to face the screaming fits he'd surely throw over that one!

Dudley had gotten a great deal more violent now that he didn't have Harry to beat on. And without that freak to blame for things, other neighbors were catching on that it was Dudley who had always been the troublemaker. After all, Harry wasn't there and the troubles just kept getting worse as Dudley sought entertainment in his normal bullying ways, plus outlets for the portion of friendly abuse that had always been soaked up by Harry.

Now her Ickle Duddykins was getting shunned as neighbor moms started to protect their children from him, so he had neither friends nor easy targets. And their food bill kept shooting up as Petunia's growing boy wasn't able to scam or bully treats from the other children any more!

Vernon had even begun to skip the poker games he'd so enjoyed!

Though they all vocally praised his absence, the entire Dursley household was silently missing Harry from their lives. Or, more precisely, the amount of work and money they got from him and the abuse that he'd soaked up had all made their lives so much simpler and more pleasant.

She still had no idea of how they were going to deal with Dudley when his birthday rolled around and they didn't have a few thousand pounds to spare on presents for him.

Petunia was still puzzling over the incomprehensible bread recipe when the lights went out and the power died. Just as she was raising her head to shout something to Vernon, however, she saw a cloaked shape step out of the shadows by the kitchen door.

She had only enough time to inhale to scram before she noted the inky black figure was masked, and that DECENT people didn't go breaking into other's homes wearing such appalling attire.

That could only mean he was a FREAK!!

The air she'd inhaled to scream instead transformed into a venom-filled hiss of angry at the intimidating man approaching her. "You!" Her voice barely contained enough spite to convey all of her rage over the situation those freaks had put her beloved family in. "I might have expected seeing one of YOUR type here! What's the matter?" she mocked. "Boy not... urgh!"

By now Petunia had been backed up to the kitchen counter and a black-gloved fist was around her throat, clamping down just enough so that she could receive oxygen while still lifting her three inches off the floor.

Light from a street lamp outside glinted off the oval encased bat-symbol on his chest, as the masked man growled an inch from her face. "I'm not going to waste any more of my time than necessary. So let's get to the heart of this. What is Poison Ivy planning with Harry?"

For the first time in her life Petunia experienced real fear of a freak. Her eyes went wide and she just mindlessly shook her head in incomprehension.

Batman shook her, grimacing as he whispered in threatening tones just inches from her face. "Your sister, Lily! What does she plan to use him for?!"

Still shaking her head, eyes wide in fear, Petunia still mumbled out, "She... she is dead!"

"Then who do you work for!" Batman again shook his prey.

"The... the Headmaster said..." Petunia's eyes rolled back up into her skull and she began babbling mindlessly, overcome with terror.

Tossing her aside, Batman strode out into the living room where he'd pegged an additional target. Interrogating henchmen was nothing new on his list, and it was vital that he knew more of Poison Ivy's plans so he could plan a more effective counter for them.

He arrived in the room just as the fat man was rising to his feet. "Petunia, I..." A swift punch to the nose sent the man crashing right back onto the couch he'd just risen from.

Once again the Caped Crusader crowded into the victim's personal space, clasping a gloved hand around the throat and speaking in threatening whispers. "Who hired you to take care of Harry?"

"The... the Headmaster," Vernon burbled stupidly, before greed met rising ire. "So, you're here to negotiate his return, are you? Well, we won't take the boy unless you pay double the previous amount!"

Vernon found himself flung across the room very roughly. He found a boot on the back of his neck before he could rise from the curio case he'd smashed into. Again, Batman was whispering. "Why did he hire you?"

"T-t-t to keep him away from YOUR kind!" Vernon sputtered out, rage mixing with terror at this obvious FREAK'S treatment of a respectable citizen like him!

To Batman it was important, for an interrogation like this to work, to cause maximum intimidation while dealing minimal harm, so his subjects could still talk and reveal information. However, at that moment a weapon began to rattle from the stairs. Throwing a batarang and following it up in person, Batman had dropped his assailant before he'd even realized he was being attacked by a small boy.

He felt a little guilt over that, but he wasn't about to show such remorse in front of the two henches downstairs. The fat one was already getting up, and about to swing a cricket bat at him with a wild roar.

A solid kick to the stomach at the end of a jump from the landing took the breath and the fight out of him. However, Batman was already coming to the end of the time limit he had given to himself to conduct this interrogation, and he needed more clues.

The minions were being surprisingly uncooperative on that point. The usual scum from Gotham would have broken already and been singing like a bird. But these two had, at least initially, met him with more anger than terror. That implied far more loyalty than Poison Ivy usually inspired.

Already decided on an alternate route among his options, and grabbing the back of Vernon's head, lifting his face up by the hair, Batman growled into his ear, "Where did you keep him?"

The man's eyes went to the blank plaster wall under the stairs.

Batman whirled and put his fist through the plaster, breaking open the sealed over door with a sharp yank and revealing the cupboard beneath. Inside he found the usual accouterments of a prisoner's cell, including a crib mattress that had been used and old when they'd dragged it from a rubbish pile to put in there. All of the signs pointed to a small boy being kept as a slave in there.

No.

There was no way Poison Ivy would keep a child like this, any child, much less her own. Nor would she pay anyone to.

There was a plot here deeper than any he'd previously been suspecting.

There were two empty bedrooms in this house. He knew, having scouted it out. One was used for storage, the other kept empty as a guestroom. They had the space to keep a child properly, so this treatment was deliberate, and Poison Ivy cared too much about the life she created to even consider abuse of it. But it was also plain that she'd scouted out and prepared this identity herself, including selecting these minions. The plant names were an obvious sign of that.

Still, something else was at work here. Someone else had taken over what Poison Ivy had set up.

Whirling again on Vernon, who had given up on rising to his feet, Batman hauled him off the floor to stare at him eye to eye, fists clenched in the man's shirt as he growled into the face of the man he held inches off the floor using his full on 'intimidate the criminals' scare tactics.

"This Headmaster. Who is he? What is he working toward?"

A bitter laugh from the kitchen caught his attention. There stood Petunia with bruises on her throat and a water glass full of alcohol in her hand. "Ha! As if you didn't know." She took a big swig from her glass, reducing his estimate that she might be planning to use that as a projectile weapon, relying on the alcohol to sting his eyes.

But the woman had very helpfully began ranting. "The Headmaster dumped him here after my dear sister got herself killed, leaving US to take care of the boy. We knew all along he was one of those FREAKS! What with my sister being what she was, all Strange and ABNORMAL!"

Vernon, being what he was, and reminded of what the type of person holding him obviously was, proved that he had no fear at all of those wizards he hated so much and tried to pull back a leg to deliver a massive kick to the hated creature in abnormal clothes.

That got him thrown into Petunia, and the Bat vanished into the night.

Minutes later, officers of the Surrey Police Department knocked on the door, having gotten a call from an important government office about a high level tip they'd received about members of a child slavery ring being found in a house on Privet Drive.

The newspaper story shocked the neighbors. Shocked, I tell you.

OoOoO  
Author's Notes: Well, what does Batman DO when he needs information from criminals? And, as far as his evidence was concerned, these were some villain's henches.

Beat them up and hand them over to the law, getting a few clues about the present plot in the process.


	8. Chapter 8

The Wizard of Gotham   
by Skysaber 

Chapter Eight 

OoOoO 

I would like to thank all of my reviewers, whose excitement is contagious, causing me to want to write more! 

Thank you. Without you this would not have gone nearly so far, so fast. 

Bless you all. 

OoOoO 

"Any success on the investigation, sir?" Alfred asked politely as he brought a sandwich and tea down to the Batcave. 

"Some," a bare-headed Batman grunted, cowl off as he worked at his computer. 

"Good or bad, sir?" Alfred prompted, setting the meal down by his employer's elbow, knowing from long experience that sometimes his charge had to be left alone, and other times teased for bits of vital information. 

"Some of both, Alfred." Bruce Wayne leaned back and ran a tired hand through his hair. Accepting the tumbler that came with the tea, he took a long drink of the refreshing liquid inside, a vitamin drink that Alfred sometimes offered when he believed that Bruce was working too hard. He took note of the hint and divulged what he'd found. 

"The 'safehouse' in Britain had been keeping Harry in conditions that could not be termed less than slavery. I've been running profiles and comparing to skill graphs, and the only person doing any work in that house was Harry, and they kept him in conditions worse than any family pet. Poison Ivy wouldn't do that. Not for any child, and certainly not for any son of hers. So that means someone else is involved in this. The henches said something about working for The Headmaster, but not anything specific, except he was the one to dump Harry there. They seemed under the impression that Poison Ivy had died. That implies that it was not her scheme they were working on, or if it was that this Headmaster had usurped it for his own ends. But I don't know enough about him to guess what those ends are. Not yet." 

With a gloved hand picking up one half of a delicious sandwich, Bruce moved a few keys to bring up the data from a genetic comparison. "However, I was able to retrieve a sample of Harry's blood, found on an old bandage in his former cell there. Comparing that to hair I extracted from a lock of Poison Ivy's she'd kept in an old scrapbook I encountered in her greenhouse, I can positively identify her as his mother. Also, Wayne genetic markers are present, which modern medical science is sure exists in no other known line, and I am the last Wayne living. So unless I have some cousins I never knew about, I can now prove that Harry is my son." 

Alfred smiled. "Ah, it does these old bones good to hear that, sir. For so long I'd feared this crusade of yours might end in you being the last of a noble and virtuous line. It was almost more than I could bear, sir. Now allow me to reassure you that your family was most respectable, and perfectly satisfied with their own wives. You needn't worry about any unaccounted for offspring. You do not get your strict sense of morality from a cereal box, sir. The Waynes have been pillars of virtue from the time they left England." 

"Thank you, Alfred." Bruce engaged in a small frown. "However, this was not how I envisioned having a son, and certainly not how I would've raised him." 

"Nevertheless congratulations, sir. I shall go prepare a room." Alfred bowed and left the cave, leaving Batman feeling oddly empty in his absence, staring at a blown-up photo of the smiling face of a tussle-haired youth. 

"Harry Wayne," Batman spoke the name as if trying the words on for size. 

OoOoO 

Superman was flying to Metropolis, intent on arriving home and doing something about the bruise on his chin, when he found he needed to talk and on a sudden impulse diverted to the Themyscira embassy. 

Princess Diana of Themyscira, otherwise known to the world as Wonder Woman, was just returning from a diplomatic function and greeted him as he alighted next to her. 

"Superman," she greeted warmly, then noted something and observed with some concern, "You aren't one to bruise easily." 

The superhero gave a Kansas farmboy smile. "No. You're right, Diana, I don't." 

"And you seem concerned about something," She noted, before offering, "Do you want to come inside and talk?" 

Following her within the spacious dwelling, Superman allowed Wonder Woman to go about the domestic necessities and the two found themselves seated on opposing sofas in a comfortable sitting room soon thereafter, where Clark finally confessed to what was bothering him. 

"I just learned that Bruce has a son who was deliberately abused by a master of evil known as The Headmaster, and Bruce is only now hearing about it and starting to set it all to rights." 

Superman also adjusted his tender jaw. "Kid also has a powerful right hook." 

"So, you're worried for him?" Wonder Woman inquired. 

Superman nodded, before leaning forward and clasping his hands together in concern. "I do. But I am also concerned for the boy. From what Bruce tells me, Harry has already led a very rough life. His mother wasn't chosen by Bruce, Poison Ivy took advantage of him while he was under her control, and then the child got stolen away from her by that wicked Headmaster person. I was going to look into the new villain myself, but something just occurred to me that has me ever more concerned." 

The Princess of Themyscira was doing everything to show proper support and concern. So she prompted, "And that is?" 

Superman heaved a sigh. "Just what is Lex Luthor going to do when he finds out about a kid that could knock me out in one blow?" 

OoOoO 

"Harry," at home in Gotham, Ivy kissed her son on the forehead, causing the small boy to positively light up from the open show of affection. "As you know I just came back from a trip with the Headmaster. What you don't know is that he gave me most of the memories of your departed mother. Now I want you to know that I don't recall anything in her life from the time she graduated school, or about eighteen or so. So I don't recall her marriage or having you, but other than that my knowledge of her life is as complete as hers was. So I want to know, do you have any questions about your natural family?" 

Boy! Did he ever!! 

He wanted to know about his mother, naturally, and how she grew up. Did she have any friends? Where did she live? Did she have to go to school with his terrible Aunt Petunia? (Yes, but only until she was eleven, then she went to a special boarding school in Scotland to learn how to use magic.) 

MAGIC?!? 

That one term opened up whole new realms of questions there. But Pamela had to quiet the nearly insatiable curiosity of her boy on that and nearly every other subject on his family (Do you know about my dad? Yes, dear. Lily met him at school) as frankly they'd run short of time. So Ivy had to promise to answer more of his questions some other day. 

"However, Harry," she continued after she'd made that promise. "There is one thing that you can be working on. I've noticed something, and even though young boys are not among my previous areas of expertise, I am the mistress of growing things, and I've noticed that in all the weeks you've spent with me we haven't had to get your hair cut once." 

Harry grinned sheepishly as he reached up to touch his unruly locks. "It's always like this. The Dursleys gave me more haircuts than any other kid I'd ever heard of, but it always looks just like this." 

"That's exactly my point," Pamela smiled, then pinched his cheeks cutely. "You see, you are a growing boy, and it is part of your nature to shoot up in just about all ways. You are getting taller, your arms and legs longer. So why do you think your hair should never change, but always stay the same? I've had three haircuts in the time that I've known you, but you haven't had one. Do you have any explanation for why your hair stays looking exactly the same whether you get it cut or not?" 

His dumbfounded look as he thought about it for the first time gave her giggles. 

"Don't you worry, Harry. I just wanted to point something out. It's nothing bad, in fact it is wonderful. Because, you see, there is a kind of person who can control their appearance with magic, and it looks like you are one of them," she reassured him, then sighed. "Unfortunately, I don't know how to teach you to use this talent. So you are going to have to learn to experiment by yourself. You might try changing your hair color, or making your eyebrows bushier. Start with small changes, and once you can control those, move on to larger ones, because the kind of gift you have, as a Metamorph, you can eventually learn to change your entire appearance in seconds. It can be just about perfect as a form of disguise, and those are always useful." 

Pamela gave out a great huff of air as she started looking around. "Now I am going to have to use a bit of my own serum on myself. Those wizards turned me into a perfect physical copy of your mom, and it has reduced my plant powers somewhat. I don't even know if I can produce poisons at present, and that means I can't be sure of my usual immunities to them. That could be bad if Joker wants to have a housewarming party and SmileX all of his guests again." 

She held out her hand and was puzzled when nothing got put in it by a friendly plant. 

Harry blushed. "Um, I'm sorry, but..." he fidgeted for just a second before blurting out. "Well, when Mr. Freeze was holding the city for ransom and I brought Selina here to the greenhouse, both Eddie and I were sure she was going to die, so I kinda asked the plants for something that would help her get stronger, and it kinda gave me your serum, and I used it on her." 

Pamela blinked in surprise as the embarrassed boy blushed. Then she smiled warmly at him, touching his chin in affectionate reassurance. "You did the correct thing, Harry. Now I'll just have to whip up another batch for myself. Oh well, all it will do is delay me for a little while. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. I've got a new scheme going, so I will be traveling to Britain each day at about this time to go teach some classes. But I promise I'll be home in the morning to spend the rest of the day with you." 

Harry nodded his acceptance. 

Then cackling laughter split the peaceful atmosphere of the greenhouse. 

Snape stalked into Poison Ivy's sanctuary, limping between one professionally made artificial leg, and one he'd crafted poorly himself. 

Oh, and he was cackling, "Hehe, Mrs. Potter! I wager you'd never expected to see me again, did you? I knew that once I'd faked my death, cutting off my own leg as the rot started to claim it and letting The Headmaster and those others believe I was dead, that you'd relax and drop your guard..." 

Snape looked over sharply in the direction in which he'd received two distinct taps on the shoulder, turning just in time to see a miniature Whomping Willow rear back and bash him across the face using the whole force of its trunk to loft the wizard into the air like a baseball, arcing down into the waiting and expectant clutches of another Whomping Willow which batted him across the greenhouse and into the open maw of Ivan, who clamped down and began chewing. Moments later, he rumbled. 

"What was that?" Harry inquired innocently. 

Poison Ivy just shrugged. "Oh, Ivan just said he must have been Chinese. Because moments after eating him he got hungry again." 

OoOoO 

In a corporate office building, a bald man who was never terribly worried about scruples or what side of the law he made his money on (truthfully, he did best by using both legal and illegal means together), received a report from one of his henches. 

"Why am I looking at a picture of a five year old boy?" Lex Luthor asked of his subordinate. 

The woman bowed playfully over the picture, teasing a line with her finger along the young man's chin. "Because Lex, that boy laid out Superman with one punch, and knocked him out for hours." 

The nemesis of the Last Son of Krypton smiled, and not in a nice way. 

OoOoO 

'Lily Potter' straightened her hair as she waited in the receiving room to meet the prisoner she'd come to see. She'd had just enough time for a quick stop here before going off to Hogwarts to teach classes. 

Really, her first impression of Azkaban was to reflect on how lucky they were to have Arkham in Gotham. The wizards of Britain still obviously believed in dungeons and torture, from the look of this place. 

The lock of the heavy metal door rattled, indicating that a guard was trying to open it from the other side. It took him some few moments, as the guest visiting area of this prison was obviously never used, and the locks were clogged by rust. 

In a few moments they dragged open the door and Sirius came into view, with a shocked "Lily!" the prisoner immediately came over and hugged her, as if to squeeze the breath from her lungs. 

Luckily, a touch of super-strength restored by her own serum made that impossible. 

But honestly! This dungeon was operating like a Turkish prison of a thousand years ago! Ivy had never reflected before on how nice and clean modern prisons were, or how carefully thought out were their amenities. Here there was no glass wall separating the guests and convicts, just an empty room with a few old wooden chairs in it. 

It was unbelievable how primitive everything was! 

Still, none of that prevented her from taking advantage of that situation to slip several objects into the pockets of Sirius as he hugged her, including a map, GPS, coordinates to a safehouse, some money, some food, and a wand, along with the usual lockpicks and file, with a penlamp to read all of this by, and a note explaining her plans so he would know what to do when a vine broke open the outer wall of his cell that evening. 

She'd just expected to have to work more to pass all of this on to him, that's all. 

That was enough to suit the Poison Ivy side of her personality. She needed a few magical henches and wasn't about to hold anything so silly as a few counts of multiple murder against a guy, as she'd been guilty of the same herself, on occasion. This was a more or less standard villainous arrangement of "I break you out of prison, and you serve me." A cut and dried deal, although she was a trifle leery of tales of how this man had once betrayed her. Traitorous henches were always so much trouble. Still, one used what one had, and by all accounts the other prisoners were just as bad. 

However, the substantial part of her that was Lily Evans knew this man, and he was her friend, one of her very closest friends who wasn't a girl. They had had their odd moments of disagreement during school, but she had come around to accept that Snape was an irredeemable bully (and toady), and so no longer argued with James or his friends over their returning some of the treatment the greasy haired git dished out to others. 

Sirius was hugging her with sincere affection, crying into her shoulder with gladness over seeing her again. 

Poison Ivy had never experienced any such thing, and the part of her that was Lily was convinced right then, right there, that he'd never betrayed anybody, and that something must have gone horribly wrong for him to be here. 

OoOoO 

Back in Gotham, the newly accepted son of Poison Ivy was going about his chores in the greenhouse when something occurred to shock him out of that routine. 

"Harry," a deep voice spoke unexpectedly from off to the boy's right. As the boy turned about, he saw a very familiar, and very scary, figure dressed all in black there in cowl and cape. 

The sudden appearance of the dreaded Bat Burglar was enough to get Harry to drop the watering can, which shattered on the floor. Desperately, he tried to teleport, but was unable as the close and sudden proximity of his worst fear gave him a 'deer in the headlights' feeling that choked off his ability. 

Trying to take a step toward the cover Ivan offered, admittedly on the other side of the building, the shocked boy slipped on the spilled water and fell on his bottom as the Bat took a step toward him out of the concealing shadows. 

"Pamela never told you what happened to your father, did she?" 

The frightened boy was scooting backward on his heels and elbows as he stared at the frightening Bat Burglar before him. "She told me enough. She told me a Dark Lord killed him." 

"No, Harry," Batman stalked forward, then extended a glove to help lift him off of the floor. "I am your father." 

OoOoO   
Author's Notes:   
Well, yeah, that bit about modern medical science? Wizards don't use MODERN medical science, now do they? So the Potter line would be completely unknown to them, now wouldn't it? 

Oh, and don't be too concerned about the Bat getting Harry. Do you honestly think I'd let him have him that easily? No, this is where we begin to explore the wonder and mystery that is custody battles between a hero and a villainess! 


	9. Chapter 9

The Wizard of Gotham   
by Skysaber 

Chapter Nine 

OoOoO 

Driving home from downtown Gotham, Batman glanced to the side of him where Harry, who had fainted from the news, slept in the passenger seat of the Batmobile. 

The Dark Knight of Gotham had to admit that he could have played that scene differently, probably to greater success. 

In his eagerness to be loved, he had shown himself to the boy in costume, intent on impressing his only living relative with the majesty and grandeur that was Batman, one of the world's most renowned heroes. So eager for his son's acceptance that he had permitted himself a moment of weakness, in which he had forgotten that so far in Harry's life, he had only been raised by supervillains. 

In the crystal clear analytical reasoning that, for that moment, had deserted him, Batman could not fault the boy for his long, agonizing shriek of "NO!!" followed by some blubbering about "That's impossible," and "I'll never join you!" 

But Batman would, to his dying day, insist that he had NEVER, at any point, offered that Harry "Join me so we can protect Gotham as father and son!" 

That was just too corny, and whatever Batman could be accused of, being corny was not on that list (Oh, he might imagine a BIF! BAF! THWACK! or POW! while beating up his opponents, but that was purely a meditative focus, a psychological tool used to remind him that he too was human, and that he should never allow himself to sink to the level of a villain where human life stopped being meaningful, even precious). 

The message of such a statement might be clear, and fully match his intent, he DID want Harry to join him in costume eventually, those words were just the wrong way to put it. There was just something so oddly wrong about that image, that he put it from his mind. 

Anyway, after Harry had risen to his feet, he had stumbled back a few steps and fallen into a mulching pit, knocking himself out on a discarded weather vane while dropping into it. 

That pit had only been a few feet deep, but it had seemed to Batman that Harry had fallen for miles. Purely subjective, of course. He knew well that emotions could skew perceptions about things, that was why he avoided them as much as possible while in costume. 

Nothing could be allowed to distract him from The Mission. 

Fortunately, he had managed to grab him before he'd fallen too far. There had been a broken pottery in urn in there, and if he'd been allowed to fall all of the way in he could've cut his hand off! 

However, glancing aside at the slumbering face of his boy, the son of his body and the only other living member of the Wayne line, Batman could not find it in him to fault the boy for his startled reaction. Having been brought up, to this point, by villains, naturally he could only see a heroic figure as a threat. That disastrous first impression could and would be remedied. However, for once he experienced a moment of doubt in his own abilities. While Batman was indeed one of the world's premier experts on the criminal psyche, he was an intimidation specialist with emphasis on interrogations and predicting his opponents. 

Deprogramming a child was not on his extremely long list of qualifications. 

Luckily, he knew those that did hold that among their strengths. 

Batman allowed himself to grin smugly. 

That was precisely the moment when little 'Harold Wayne' awoke and after a startled glance around disappeared with a 'pop'. 

OoOoO 

Three Rogues sat together pouring over plans finalizing an upcoming heist. 

Already on location in England, they had done significant scouting and final preps were underway. Poison Ivy had offered her two compatriots a choice of either a straight cut of the take, whatever that might be, or a generous amount of cash up front, being honest in both offers that she expected the loot to be so rich that a cut would be the far more lucrative way to go. 

Catwoman accepted a cut, while The Riddler wanted cash up front. "Nothing personal," he said. "It's just you know how often us Rogues make mega-plans and wind up polishing bars in Arkham." 

"Yes." She did know. It was depressing, really. 

"I think," Selina Kyle purred. "That the best factor in this scheme's favor is that Batsy can't even find the place we are to be robbing." 

Eddie suddenly sat taller, taking a better grip on his cane, The Riddler declared, "You know what? I'm feeling better about this ploy already. Bring on the goblins, I say!" He used his cane to tip his hat. 

The three gave each other wide smiles. 

OoOoO 

A hand stirred at the bottom of a mulching pit, clutching at the air as the rest of a body rose to tower up in its full angry height. 

Grubbing a choice amount of rich and potent animal waste fertilizer out of his face and eyes, Snape stood up glaring at the rim of the pit and spat out in vile hatred. "So, James! You reveal you are alive at last!" 

He spat, sneering, as he cleaned the manure out from between his teeth. His ears had been the only parts clear to overhear that conversation. "I have old friends who will want to act on that information before you can reconnect to those who once protected you!" 

Sneering, he began to wade out through the muck and accidentally hit himself in the face by stepping on a rake. 

After that, he began some demented giggling as he stalked off, feeling the gaping hole where his nose used to be. 

OoOoO 

Harry arrived at Catwoman's apartment, as it was the closest safe place he knew of. It was his only safe place, aside from the Greenhouse, really, and he didn't feel safe there right now as the Bat Burglar had kidnapped him from there only moments ago! 

He picked the lock as Eddie had taught him, and was almost bowled over as another lady came up from behind and stormed right in like he wasn't there. 

"Catsy?" Harley Quinn called into the room. "Catsy? Are you home?" The clown dressed woman picked up a newspaper and blew her nose on it. She'd been crying, it seemed. "Catsy? Puddin' tried to kill me again. I know he was only making fun, but it took me nearly an hour to get out of the giant ice cream mixer, and I'm cold from crushing ice blocks. Are you there? Pamela wasn't at her home and I want to talk." 

"I don't think she's home," Harry ventured, feeling greatly in need of friendly comfort himself. After all, he's just been kidnapped by Gotham's worst villain! 

Well, by his standards anyway, which, it must be admitted, were not the usual ones. 

On hearing his voice Harley rotated around, bells jingling on her hat as she did so, seeming to see the little boy for the first time. Almost instantly a wide grin spread out upon her face, as she bent low to talk to him. 

"Well, it seems that Batsy could be following one of our examples for once. Did you hear? You haven't been with Ivy for four weeks, yet Batman already has his own child apprentice. It's appalling. Now I'm going to have to steal you away from Pamela so I won't feel all alone on those rooftops when I run into Batsy and his young friend." 

She stood up, extending Harry a hand. "Come along. We'll put you in a pair of circus tights, knock over a few candy stores, and bawl all of our troubles away in some sympathetic ear while we go into insulin shock. How's that sound?" 

"Like a laugh," Harry inadvertently said the perfect thing as he took her hand, not really understanding all of what she said but not wanting to be along right now, either. 

And she was, at least, a friendly face. She kept smiling, right? 

"Can we look for my mom? I miss her." 

Harley considered it for a second. "Sure, kid. Do you know where she's at?" 

OoOoO 

Lucius Malfoy looked up from the scroll he had just received and finished reading. "Well, well, well," he mused to himself, posing thoughtfully. "James alive? Oh, that just won't do. No, I have been enjoying my nearly uncontested influence far too much. Perhaps Severus is right, there are certain among our mutual acquaintances who could use this information profitably. Yes..." 

He walked along, over to the fireplace, wondering just who he was going to contact for the job of assassinating a nearly amnesiatic James Potter. 

Oh. It would be too delicious to waste on any small timer. Let's go all of the way, shall we? 

OoOoO 

Princess Diana was not one unfamiliar with social calls, however, this one had her feeling decidedly odd as the Batman lurked in the shadows of her room, pacing back and forth in obvious agony of spirit, confessing to her like a man who had a broken soul. 

"Diana, I... don't know what to do. My son, he has a... meta-gene." 

Struggling somewhat to present an outwardly calm facade, the amazon knew how much this would be tearing the man up inside, and so did her best to be reassuring, "Well, Bruce, I can't say that is entirely unexpected, given who the mother is." 

Batman paused at one end of his stalk, forming a trembling fist and raising it to his eye level. Diana was already resolved to say nothing about it and calmly continue to council him while planning for repairing a hole in the wall, when the Caped Crusader suddenly dropped the hand and resumed pacing with a loud, angry swirl of his cape the only noise for another ten powerful strides. 

Then he stopped, midway through his route, and turned to face her, and she saw in his eyes a degree of vulnerability she'd never before imagined lying beneath those eyes. 

"Diana... I need your help. I... I admit I don't know how to raise a meta-child." 

She smiled for him softly, always accepting, warm and even affectionate. It was a part of the healing process for her to be so, nor could she deny this man who had sacrificed so much for so many when he was hurting. She rose to her feet and put a hand over his, raising the gloved appendage to take it between her own as she met his suffering eyes. "Bruce, you raise them like any other, with warm, loving tenderness." 

A spark of humor appeared in that vulnerable face behind the mask and she rolled her eyes, acknowledging the point. "Okay, I can see where you may need some help in that department." 

When the man spoke, it again surprised her. "Robin and I form a good team, each providing skills and aptitudes the other may be weak on. Our teamwork makes us more effective combined than either of us could be alone. Since this is one of my weaker areas, I was considering acquiring some help." 

Wonder Woman froze to the spot, not daring to breathe. 

Batman continued to speak, "I was thinking of forming a partnership with a good woman. You know, acquire a specialist in child-rearing, perhaps someone with a meta-gene of her own. Probably on a permanent basis." 

At once holding herself casual, while also her emotions feeling somewhat like a wild animal in a trap, Diana switched to Princess voice, "That would have to be something you first consider with the boy's mother. After all, she has a more deeply vested interest in raising him than any other." 

"She's a villain," Batman replied dismissively. 

Princess Diana took a deep breath and then swallowed, still striving to remain tender as she spoke somewhat formally, "Still, she has first right of refusal. Even if she can be proven unfit, her needs must be considered. After that, if you can provide evidence her influence is hurtful to the boy, then..." she took a very deep breath. "Then you could pursue... other options." 

But she found she was speaking to the empty night, with her window curtains blowing in the breeze as the moonlight spotted her carpet silver. Still wearing her nightgown, she got up and closed the window, then went to bed, head full of tumultuous thoughts wondering where all this would end. 

And... if she preferred one course over another. 

OoOoO 

Breaking into Gringotts was almost depressingly easy. 

There are guards, and then there are guards. And using MALE dragons was just not any sort of defense at all! 

Not against Poison Ivy! 

The trio of Rogues split up the job according to their specialties. Catwoman had been their burglar, sneaking in to map all of those underground corridors and locate each of their vaults, numbered and unnumbered, before the raid had happened. She'd also been their expert at detecting and locating guards and other security measures. Then, when it was time for the raid, she rather elegantly took them all out. 

Temporary measures only, of course. Catwoman never killed. 

Poison Ivy was going to handle the bulk of the robbery, turning those tunnels and catacombs into a veritable underground jungle as vines and guard plants spread about. 

The most important key factor to the raid was those pools of water the ugly little metas called 'Thief's Downfall'. The trio had called it 'Thief's Triumph' ever since they'd learned of it on Catwoman's initial probes. That discovery had set all of their plans ahead by MONTHS! 

The goblins kept the stuff on hand in humongous subterranean pools that they could then use as waterfalls to cascade over their mine cart tracks and thus frustrate any intruders who relied on magic, as a key property of the magic water was that it washed away all enchantment and magical concealment, basically canceling all active magic (including spells like the Imperious). But while it could suspend items like wands, cloaks or carts from functioning, briefly, they worked again right afterward. 

So no permanent harm was done. 

Well, you could hardly ask for a better tool to use for breaking into magically guarded vaults - and those goblins kept the supply ready on hand! That was like Fort Knox keeping blocks of C4 right next to their gold vaults! 

Henchmen hired by The Riddler used old fire fighting equipment, dropping the pickup hoses into those wonderful pools of water and then spraying the fluid out through hoses onto the doors of those nearly impregnable vaults, then blowing them open with dynamite to get at the contents (sadly, their much more highly favored plastic explosive remedies were out, as the amount of magic down there prohibited all electrical operations - including detonators). 

Having blown open a vault, they would then spray down what was inside to cancel all of those tricky security spells, before a conga line of Ivy's plants would then haul out that tremendous bulk of artifacts, jewelry and coin. 

Sirius stood nearby to cast drying charms on all of those paintings, scrolls or books being retrieved, and that was that. 

The Rogues already had a method for smuggling their ill gotten gains out through unused portions of the muggle underground rail system. Actually, preparing vaults of their own big enough to handle this tremendous rush of ill gotten gains had possibly been the worst part of this whole mission! 

Well, that and cataloging it afterward was going to be a true nightmare. 

Having Greened the majority of those poor little defenseless guard dragons down there (apparently males had been very popular, but then males were generally more aggressive and territorial), Ivy had a solid defense against goblin reprisals, as her pollen affected them more deeply than the clackers used by their former keepers. 

But that was just bait for the trap, truly, as the goblins knew that they had dragons down there and thought they knew their way around them. But cut those lovely beasts free (and there was something majestic about dragons, so Pamela knew Harry would want some as pets. Besides, do you know how valuable trained guard dragons are?!? Most of them were worth more than the contents of many of those vaults!)... 

Ah! But to get back to the point. A few rampaging dragons concentrates the attention wonderfully. The Rogues knew they were being noisy. It was sadly impossible to use explosives in large amounts underground without echoes carrying. So they knew before going in they'd be hip deep in guards before their operation was done, and having them concentrate on the now free and Greened dragons... well, it led the poor bankers to think the DRAGONS might be a problem! 

Silly goblins. 

While those filthy metas were concentrating on catching or subduing their escaped guard animals they failed to pay adequate attention to the Devils Snare patches Ivy had transplanted for this occasion! And also the... well, you get the idea. Hidden among the dark crags and forgotten pools a veritable jungle of dangerous plants now lay in wait that subdued those goblins quite nicely, thank you very much. 

Then, because she was feeling tidy, her vines would then stack the goblins in piles in their own underground city, which now lay under strong pollen clouds so that none of those metas would be waking up until they were long gone. 

Oh, and since they were there anyway, they stole all of the goods to be found among the goblin only areas, too, of course. It was just too priceless an opportunity not to! 

So they emptied out those quaint little grubby goblin villages, stole all of their priceless treasures, and then had creepers go over their comatose bodies looking for loose change! 

A small army of bushes were already escaping from the bank proper carrying bundles of parchment, weighing scales, and inkwells, even fixtures from the lights to the plumbing, while stronger shrubs carried off the furniture! 

No, the Rogues didn't imagine they'd be able to do this a second time, so they were going to do a thorough job of it on the first go! 

They also emptied out the Ministry's accounts as a matter of course. 

In actual fact, Catwoman, Ivy and The Riddler when they broke into Gringotts stole everything not in a totally innocent vault! Then they went back through on Ivy's orders and stole everything from those as well, although this time cataloging those ill gotten gains so that equivalent value could be returned to the victims anonymously. 

Because, really, governments and banks are both the worst thieves out there! Far worse than any Rogue. As a matter of course, either one in need of cash would automatically have confiscated whatever valuables they'd left behind, seizing intact vaults on any imagined pretext and possibly putting their own unlucky victims behind bars on some excuse or other to ensure the bank or ministry's illusion of propriety in taking all of their money. Claim they were a criminal and of course you could take all of their goods! 

This was not a new thing. It had been done before. Frequently. 

So, as a kindness to the innocent, Poison Ivy was going to steal their money too, then find some quiet way to return it to them, possibly in the form of a charity fund or aid society. Whatever it was, it would have to be disguised. 

The Riddler was having fun carving all sorts of bizarre clues into the walls as they finished up. His job in this was actually among the most vital, as he was going to be throwing off pursuit. They had convinced him, just this once, to give out false clues that wouldn't lead anywhere! 

Oh, and Pamela may have had to Green him a bit to get him to do that, but it was important they never be found! They didn't HAVE a cell in Azkaban bad enough to sentence them to for this! And Dementors could only kiss you once! So, no, none of the Rogues were eager to be caught for this, EVER! 

So that just meant they had to cover their tracks. 

Eddie was actually having a grand old time placing graffiti on the walls very subtly blaming everything on the Headmaster. 

Ah, some days plans just work too well. 

Poison Ivy stiffened at the thought. That was usually the point a bat gloved hand rushed out the darkness to strike you in the face. But she relaxed. Catwoman was right. The best part of this whole job was that Batman didn't even know this bank existed. Why... 

She tensed again, hearing a VERY familiar sound. 

"I know that laugh." Riddler stopped in his rhyming clue about how Albus was all to blame for this in order to look down a tunnel toward the goblin caves. 

They all did, but it was on a truly massive scale, only heightened by echoes. 

"Hi guys!" Harley Quinn bounced in to make an appearance in full costume. "Harry-kins got kidnapped by Batsy, but got away, and he wanted me to find you so you could cheer him up. Oh, and I saw that you hadn't killed off all of your victims so I dropped a few SmileX canisters to take care of that for you. So! When are you going to be done? Is it soon? Can I help?" 

Behind Harley came sounds of the goblin nation perishing as it laughed itself to death. Poison Ivy blanched as she realized she couldn't even BEGIN to counter so much of that deadly gas! 

From the sounds of it, either goblins had a LOWER resistance to that poison than normal, or this was an unusually potent batch, too. Meaty thuds began to echo that sounded suspiciously like bodies starting to fall. 

Catwoman and Riddler, coming to the same conclusions, suddenly wanted out of there before that noxious stuff spread! Henches hastily dropped their bundles and started to run away toward the exits they'd drilled into those goblin catacombs. Poison Ivy lingered behind as her compatriots fled, pausing to directed her foliage to finish up the jobs they had started. 

Although running the pumping machines was a little hard, her initial concept of having flow-through vines spray the water for her hadn't worked at the flowing water canceled out all magic, including her animating powers. 

"Won't be long," Pamela told her dearest friend as Harley lingered beside her. "So, what did you to with Harry to keep him safe in the meantime?" 

"Hm?" Harley bubbled perkily. "Oh. I left him with Pengy. He had a job that could use a teleporter." 

OoOoO   
Author's Notes: 

Well, I couldn't just sit back and give you guys nothing! 

However, I am exhausted. I finally went and did it, prepared and posted a work for professional opinion. If you want to see it, go to baen dot com, click on the link along the top for Baen's Bar (they'll ask you to log in, but all it takes is an email). That will get you on to their forum. So, if you'll just scroll down to the subject link that says "Baen's Universe Slush" you'll find the place where those making their first try at professional writing with that publishing house are posting their short stories. 

Mine is there under the title "Strike Breaker". Please give it a view. I think you'll find it very silly indeed. 

And, if I get enough positive feedback there, I'll make the next chapter of Wizard of Gotham my highest writing priority! 

Oh, but the comments have to go in a different thread than the actual story, called, showing stellar imagination here, "Baen's Universe Slush Comments", and my entry there is "Strike Breaker Comments." So hard to follow that my brain is already aching from trying. TE HE. 


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